Chapter 12

I grip my coffee mug in both hands and set it down gently onto the counter—I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak.

Bradley’s hand slips lower, brushing over the waistband of my jeans, lower, until he finds my erection. He cups me through the pants, squeezing until I have to close my eyes. The sensation is too much—my knees waver and my legs turn to jelly and the only thing holding me up is his arms, his body pressed so tight against mine. Involuntarily I gasp his name, clench my fingers onto the edge of the counter, and I know he’s smiling, I can feel the shape of his lips on my jaw. Damnhim for doing this to me. So much for my resolve.

His voice is soft and low like distant surf. “When you watch me from your window,” he purrs, his hand kneading me, working me hard, “do you touch yourself here?”

For emphasis, he squeezes again, his fingers closing around my shaft and under my balls. Suddenly my jeans are too confining, too tight, I want them gone.