Why does he keep talking? Every time he opens his damn mouth, it makes the throbbing harder.
"You want this."
Telling him I don't seems kind of… well, pointless. Because my body, my actions, my everything right now is giving him an entire different story. And he isn't wrong. Murderer or whatever, it doesn't change the fire he's bringing to my blood, the tense anticipation which has me quivering as his fingers slip just a little bit closer.
"Say it, Grace," Caine demands. The words are so rough, his voice so deep, my hips jerk. "Tell me you want this."
I press my lips together. Some wanton part of me wants to do as he says, but the overwhelming majority denies his request, the embarrassment too much to overcome. Even with it flushing my cheeks, though, my body continues its responses. A shiver here. A sharp intake of breath there. A wiggle of my hips to entice his fingers further, until they finally reach the edge of my panties.
More.
Higher.
