Caine hovers over me, all rippling muscles and heaving chest, his words hanging in the air between us.
"...there's no rule saying you can't touch yourself, right?"
My brain dies. Just kaboom, explodes, done-for.
Did he just—? Is he suggesting—?
Wait. What now. Did he just—
He wants to WATCH me?
Heat explodes in my face as my eyes go wide. The suggestion alone sends a traitorous pulse of arousal through me, but it's instantly swallowed by a tidal wave of utter mortification.
Nope. NO. Never. Not happening.
My thighs may be clenching with need, but my embarrassment screams louder.
"Absolutely not," I splutter, my voice somewhere around ten octaves higher than normal. I'm not even sure if ten octaves exist, but if they do, I'm there, baby. High and freaked out.
I lurch backward on the bed, scrambling like a freshly squashed insect. My legs are noodles, my dignity a corpse. I manage two feet of retreat before vertigo hits like a sucker punch.
