Page 106 of The Score

It could end in such a mess. One day, when he's missing the kind of love he seeks in his favorite shows, he'll go searching for someone who looks at him and thinks of candlelit dinners and romcom heroes… and she won't believe him that our marriage was platonic. At this point, there's too much evidence to the contrary. He may reassure her we were faking, but would she believe him? I'm the best friend everyone warns themselves about. And I'm not sure I'm faking anymore…

Damn. Accepting his touch risks that future for him. It's a problem, really, when the ancient parts of my brain that crave sex are sure making me cry for histouch. I tremble. His pinky digs into the plush line where my thighs meet, and I become so wet I'm sure my underwear is getting drenched.

I stare at the ceiling, then toward the stairs, then at the people around us. Nothing gets processed. Bear and the rest of the group chat about something else, but I've lost track. They've left me to myself, by some miracle, but it won't last long. I'm still hidden behind Bear's wide shoulders, but I should get my phone out or find something to do with my hands. I need an alibi. Plausible deniability, so I can't get called out. Any second now, and someone might point out how I'm literally sitting still while watching my husband do things with his hand on my thigh. Except I don't. I'm enthralled.

I gulp. His hand is halfway hidden by my skirt now. His ring finger— where his wedding band lives— is so deep into this journey that it is completely covered in fabric. I'm not feeling like that ring is there for pretend. It's all my body's fault.

I shiver again. Gooseflesh appears under Bear's hand. I clench on nothing. My lungs work like I sprinted a mile. I'm biting my lips like I need to stop a moan.

Shit. I'm in a horny panic.

Saint invites Ames to dance. Logan, Evie, and Dom talk to each other. I'm about to fan myself, but I don't fight what's going on. I glance at Leon. His hand has stopped moving, now that he stares at it, like he's surprised by it too.

He must feel the weight of my eyes on him. He gazes at me.

"Still not uncomfortable?" he asks in a gravelly voice.

"Not uncomfortable," I reply.

My voice— it's shaky.

He studies my face. "Is your body still… needing…?"

That hand of his. He pushes it deeper in between my thighs. It keeps him an inch away from my panties, but it doesn't matter. My body reads it like he's about to have me for a feast.

The tiniest, softest, most frustrated sound makes it out my throat. Fuck, I'm turned on.

I don't respond. I wrap his wrist in both hands and bring it up a notch. He frowns. Stares at my leg hard.

He squeezes my flesh. "I take that as a yes."

What did Bear say about despair? That it makes the reward sweeter. Maybe that's why my body is acting like this. It's needing something sweet and free after so long.

"I've never felt this much before," I confess.

"Never felt before with me…" His free hand cups my face. The other one doesn't move. "Or at all?"

I grind my teeth. I close my eyes, overwhelmed by my traitorous body.

"Pen. Are you thinking about sex with me?"