Page 52 of Bound to Burn


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“Where did you get that?” I point to the step stool she almost fell off of.

It looks like its seen better days; leaning off balance the way it is, and it’s a wonder she didn’t break her neck earlier.

“The storeroom,” she says, hooking her thumb in that direction.

“I’m throwing that thing away.” I point to the offending stool. “If you’re going to dust, you need something that’s not going to potentially break your neck.”

I grab the stool and haul it to the back, tossing it by the door so I can throw it in the dumpster later. Placing a palm by the back door, I let the shadows creep back in.

Never has a woman made me want to throw her over my knee, spank her, and then kiss her in the same instance. She likes to push my buttons. I should be annoyed, but instead, it feels like goddamn foreplay.

I am in so much trouble.

“Did I do something wrong?” Sasha asks from behind me, and I startle.

Reluctantly, I turn around. “No, of course not,” I say, even though she neglected rule number one, but maybe I deserved that.

“Then why does it feel that way?” she murmurs innocently, her big brown eyes blinking at me, and I don’t think she’s talking about playing the music anymore.

I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just having a bad day.” I walk around her and back to the front.

At the counter, I log into the register to busy myself. I feel her presence like a shadow, a transparent reminder that I am not alone… because even if she wasn’t here, she would still invade the space in my mind. I don’t know why or how she has gotten under my skin, but she has, and I’m tired of fighting it all the time.

Sasha pushes herself up onto the counter, her fucking pink Converse dangling next to me, and I mistakenly look over, meeting her gaze. My fingers clench the underside of the counter as she tilts her head in her cute way, blinking at me with concern.

“Is there anything I can do?” Whether she knows it or not, her tone is anything but innocent, and her eyes are like dancing flames.

Her outer thigh is mere centimeters from my hand, and it takes all of my strength to pretend not to notice.

I’ve used every excuse not to get close to her, not to give in to her, because I’m not that guy, the one to use someone and be okay with it. We are in two different places in life, and for fucks sake, I’m old enough to be her dad. Right now though, I don’t give a fuck, and if she keeps pushing my buttons, I might do something I’ll regret.

My eyes roam over her legs, and I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around my waist.

“Sasha,” I warn, because I get the feeling she knows exactly what she’s doing: dangling temptation right in front of my face, hoping I’ll take a bite. I might just do that. She’s playing with fire, and she might be a mature woman, but I am a grown-ass man who knows how to take what’s his.

She spreads her legs further, her thigh brushing up against the back of my hand, and chemicals of lust rush through my bloodstream. One single fucking touch and I’m questioning why I fight so hard to push her away.

Because she has the power to break me, and I don’t have the will to be brave.

We’ve been here before. It’s almost as if she can see the raging war inside of me when she takes my hand and moves it to the inside of her thigh, her eyes never leaving mine. I wrap my fingers around her soft skin, sinking further into her flesh. I will myself to not move my hand further up her thigh, even though I’m dying to know what color her panties are. Are they a soft pink made of satin? Everything inside of me wants to give in and fuck her right here on this counter, right now.

She’s giving me permission to touch her, and I can’t help but run the pad of my thumb over her skin, the softness a contrast to my calloused fingers. I move between her legs and her hair touches my face as she leans into me. Soft breaths caress my cheek and I close my eyes feeling like I’m on a rollercoaster. My hands slowly move further up her legs, luxuriating in the feel of her soft skin. My thumbs stop just at the hem of her panties, gliding easily over the silky fabric reassuring my earlier thoughts, itching to confirm that she is wet for me. I breathe in her sigh and my balls pull tight at the knowledge of being just at the edge.

“What are you afraid of?” she whispers.

“You,” I answer, brushing my cheek against hers. She smells like sunscreen, the ocean, and peppermints.

“I don’t bite,” she whispers back, her breath teasing my cheek.

I’m under a spell and it’s clouding my brain. My thumb brushes over the center of her panties, and I shudder when I confirm they’re wet.

So. Fucking. Wet.

“Is this what you want?” I rasp in her ear.

My fingers play with the edge of her panties lifting the material to trace the edge of her sex and she practically pants. I’m dying on the inside, coming apart at the seams, but still not allowing myself to give in fully. I’m teetering on the edge, afraid to fall, but I want to touch all of her, to feel all of her, totasteall of her.

FuckI have never been this turned on by anyone in averylong time.

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