Page 75 of So This Is War
Chills pulse up my arm from her touch. “Uh-huh. Yup.”
I have no other response because my mouth is salivating.
Actually salivating.
In any other circumstances, I’d be turned fully toward her, my hand on her thigh, my thumb rubbing along her smooth skin, moving higher and higher. I’d lean into her, touch her hair, stare at her lips, and get lost in her eyes. I’d make a fucking move, tell her how goddamn beautiful she is, how she steals my breath when she enters the room.
But lucky for me, she’s completely and totally off limits. So off limits that if I were to even think about touching her, I might get my dick skated off by her father.
I remain stiff—in all areas—salivating over a touch of a finger.
“You remember that night we first met?” she asks.
Uh, like it was fucking two hours ago. That night plays in my head every time I shut my eyes for bed. I think about it. Dream about it. Wish about it. That night fucking haunts me.
“Uh, yeah. I believe so,” I say casually.
“You seemed different from how you are now. Like the confidence I was talking about.”
That’s because my dick didn’t have a muzzle on it like it does now.
“Oh, really?” I laugh nervously. “Well, you know, people change.”
“They do, but I think it’s something else. Are you scared of me?”
“Ha!” I bellow. “You? Scared of you?” I shake my head. “No, no, no. Nope. Not scared of you. Not even a little. Definitely not scared. Nope. No scaries over here.”
Now, am I scared of your father?
Yes.
My nipples have inverted just thinking about him seeing us like this side by side on my couch, and nothing is even happening. Well, besides my growing affection for this woman. Oh, did I say affection? I meant erection.
My growing erection.
“Hmm, but you’re so jumpy. Is there anything that I’m doing to make you so jumpy?”
She squeezes in closer, her breast rubbing up against my arm, the distinctive feel of her hard nipple right there on my bicep, poking my sensitive skin. The smell of her shampoo combined with the scent of my masculine soap has my head swirling with debauchery, and when her hand lands on my thigh with concern, I feel the telltale sign of my dick press against the fabric of my pants.
Alert. Alert.
Warning. Warning.
Bad thoughts are occurring.
Sexual thoughts.
Aching urges are taking over.
Hands are ready to cup breasts.
The mouth is ready to suckle.
The dick is ready to pulse between her legs . . .
Posey, you’re going to do something bad if you don’t remove yourself right this instant.
Out of self-preservation, I fly off the couch, letting her fall into the spot I was just occupying as I shout, “Bologna.”
