“You do?”
“Hell yes.”
I close my eyes as his arms tighten around my rib cage, just under my breasts, firmer and more possessive.
“Want to know what I think? I think you’re a sheltered preacher’s daughter who is curious about men.”
“Oh?” I whisper inquisitively, but he isn’t wrong.
“Yes. Look around. Tons of guys. Like any of ’em?”
I scan the crowd. There is one guy I like here, so I nod.
“Good. Because men will line up to satisfywhatever curiosity you have.”
I peek over my shoulder and gaze into his ocean blue eyes. They’re swirling with something I can’t pinpoint.
“And they’ll kiss the pavement for a chance to hold you like I am.”
My heart skips a beat, but I remain still.
His fingertips drop to my sides and glide down, resting on my hips. His chest expands against my back as he draws in a deep breath through his nostrils, hesitating. After a moment, his hands fall away, and a sense of loss chills me.
“I’ll go talk to him, church girl. Just point at who you want.”
“Then what?” I whisper, my voice unsteady.
“I’ll bring him over. Introduce you,” he answers near my ear. “That what you want?”
“If I let him touch me,” I say and place his hands back onto my hips, “What will he do next?”
I feel the restraint in his touch as his fingertips subtly curl into my flesh. “Depends on if you stop him.”
Firm and slow, his palm floats over the curve of my ass. I hold my breath, but it escapes as his fingertips slip past the hem of my dress and strum my panties. We’re at the edge of the crowd, semi-shadowed by the night and trees, but still very much not alone.
Yet, his frame tenses upon touching me, like this isn’t normal for him.
I whisper his name and stiffen, too. His index finger teases at the elastic. I close my eyes, and my heart thunders in my chest. I don’t stop him. I wait.
Slowly — painfully slow — he moves the fabric to the side.
I swallow.
Hot breath wets my ear as his lips rest against it. “I want you, Morgan. God, I want you.”
I shudder as his words burn into me. I slightly part my legs and tilt my hips back, aching for him. His fingertip grazes along my slit to my entrance, where he draws circles.
I ask softly, “How much do you want me?”
“Anytime I touch myself, I think of you. Only you.”
“Really?”
He nips at my neck and feeds his finger inside to the first knuckle, teasing me. “I fantasize about being the first man to break into your tight little body.”
My palms sweat at his naughty words.
“So who’s the lucky guy?” His finger slides in deeper. “I know it isn’t me. You said I would be a regret. Who will it be?”
