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Nate doesn’t move, but he doesn’t stare.
He sits at the end of my lounge and looks out at the lake.
The balcony gives a perfect vista of the surrounding nature, even better than being on the dock. High above it all, we get to look at our domain.
The afternoon sun beats down on us, perfect heat to complement the April chill.
I might be able to finish my book today as long as I don’t fall asleep and take a cat nap.
Or Nate doesn’t get any ideas.
I feel his eyes on me, making me shiver.
“What?” I don’t lift my gaze.
“Just looking. Is that alright?”
“You’re neverjustlooking, Nate.”
He chuckles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, you’re getting ideas.”
His hand slides up my bare calf to the inside of my thigh.
Stupid me for wearing a dress. I knew that would tempt us both too much to have a couple of hours off from whatever delectable embrace was to come next. “Do younotwant me to get ideas?”
I look at him over the book. “I want to finish my book.”
Nate shrugs. “No one’s stopping you.”
Fine. I’ll take him at his word. We’ll see how far that gets me.
I go back to reading, letting the latest cataclysmic event unfold before me.
One of my favorite characters died a few chapters earlier, and I’m still so mad at the author that I need to finish the book out of spite.
Nate’s hand climbs higher and higher.
I pretend it doesn’t affect me.
It’s just the breeze, just my imagination.
His touch stops right at the top of my thigh, slightly out of reach of my groin.
“Nate…” I warn.
“Laney…”
I huff at Nate for tempting me and at myself for wanting to give into it.
“I’m not doing anything that’s interrupting your reading, am I?”
Before I can respond, Nate’s fingers dart into thecrotch of my underwear, and his fingers brush my center which is, of course, wet, because his mere touch creates a torrent down there.
I gasp. However, I will not give up. Not yet.
The book remains poised in my hands. Though his fingers are playing with me, working between my thighs, I focus harder on the words.
