Direct hit.
Kill me now.
My entire body seizes up like a man being held at gunpoint. Every neuron in my brain starts screaming, but there’s no escape, no logical plan of action.
Does she realize?
No. No, she doesn’t.
She’sasleep, for Christ’s sake, oblivious to the absolute hellstorm she’s unleashing on me.
I stare at the ceiling. The overhead compartment. Anywhere but down.
Do not react.Do not react.Do not?—
I react.
My dick, mytraitorous, good-for-nothing dick, swells beneath her hand. Of course it did, it just got its own private invitation to paradise.
I flinch.
And you know what she does?
She sighs.
That soft, sweet exhale of contentment, as if my suffering is bringing her peace.
I want to scream. I want to shove her off, shake her awake, demand she take responsibility for the absolute travesty of this situation. But I also cannot, under any circumstances, wake her up to this.
What would I even say?
“Hey, Adams, thought you should know you’re currently cupping my junk in front of our entire professional network. No big deal. Hope you’re well-rested. Oh, and I liked it. Will you consider doing it again?”
Nope.
Not happening.
Twisting enough to escape, I move her hand off my already tortured situation.
She stirs again.
Fuck.
Her hand flexes.
She squeezes.
I black out.
I am deceased.
I have left my body and entered another plane of existence.
This is it. This is how I die.
Death by unintentional hand job.
And then, because as I’ve mentioned, the universehates me, she shifts again, rolling to the side, pulling her hand away at last.
