What’s his plan? Because he doesn’t say anything else as he holds me.

Okay, I think. Maybe he only wants this—peace and quiet and the comfort of someone close to him.

One minute passes, then two, and I can’t keep sitting here facing the TV like this, all tense and anxious, so I cautiously lean my head back against one of his wide shoulders. His rests a hand on my bare thigh, his other arm encircling my waist, and it’s almost as if neither of us is about to admit that something is going on as we continue to watch the movie, totally absorbed in it, but not really. My mind is racing, my adrenaline flooding me with icy heat, my clit alive with that sensual buzz.

Slowly, wordlessly, Eli strokes my thigh with his fingertips, and I fight to keep my pulse from tearing me apart. My sex is pounding, echoing my heartbeat. I’m getting moist for him, and it only gets worse as the movie continues in front of us.

But we stay that way, cuddling, and I begin to think that maybe nothing else will happen, that he really is content to have someone here with him, making him feel less lost. I’m strangely content, too, so once again I relax against him, the throbbing between my legs easing to a muted beat that still aches for him. It won’t stop, and all I can do is hope the movie ends soon so I can go back to my room to stroke myself, imagining his fingers on me…

Then he starts to rub my stomach, gently, carelessly.

I hold back a moan, because, dammit, he’s getting me worked up again. My sex feels swollen with heat, and I move ever so slightly on his lap, inflamed.

He only keeps lightly caressing me, and I let him. We both keep watching the screen.

Car chases. Explosions. Heat, fire, and crashes…

When I feel the pop of a button on my shirt being undone, I stop myself from sucking in a breath. Then another button. Then…

I bite the inside of my lip as Eli slips his fingers into my shirt, easing over my skin to right below one of my breasts. I stay quiet as he strokes the underside of it, back and forth, lazily, arrogantly.

My heart is tapping, and I feel each sharp pulse repeating through my body—in my belly, in my clit. I’m one connected wire of need vibrating with a single thought: have me, have me…

He moves his large hand up, cupping my breast, making me press back against him. His strokes are bolder as he clearly waits for me to put a stop to his advances, but I don’t. And I have absolutely no idea how far I’m going to let this go. Does he think I’ll say yes to him, giving him permission to claim more than I’ve already bargained away?

Of course he does. He’s Eli Brennan, and no one says no to him.

As he kneads my breast, his chest rises and falls, his breathing uneven near my ear. His other hand is still on my thigh, and he uses it to urge my leg to the side a little more. I know what’s coming, but I’m powerless to do anything because I want it, want him. And he makes the most of my seeming surrender, whisking his fingertips up the inside of my thigh. I’m about to explode in the eternal second that it takes for him to get to the waistband of my boxers and…

When he eases inside the elastic, I whimper. When he slips his fingers over my belly then between the slick folds of my sex, I push back a moan. But neither of us says anything as the movie keeps going, a mish-mash of dizzying images as he takes his time stroking me, so casually, up then down, up…down. I’m so wet for him that I can hear my juices, slippery and sinful. He has to hear how excited I am, and a flush takes me over—half embarrassment that I’m so easily won over by him, half heat swallowing my body whole.

He takes his other hand out of my shirt and coaxes that one over my belly, rubbing circles over my sensitive skin there, making the tiny muscles jump and tremble. Every time his fingertips brush against the top of my pussy, I let out a short gasp. Then with maddening deliberation, he walks those fingers downward, lower, lower, and finally slides them over my clit.

I blow out the oxygen I’ve been holding, hardly caring if I lose my cool now and reaching up behind me to grab the back of his neck. As he massages my clit with sure strokes, he uses his other hand to push two fingers up and into me. I arch off his lap, pressing my face against his jaw.

“Ooo,” I breathe.

“Fuck, Jenna.”

He takes his fingers out of me, and when he pumps back inside, it’s only with his middle one. Does he think I’m too tight for double digits? Who cares, because I want more—more of him, more of this.

As he finger bangs me while working my clit, I move my hips with his every motion. It’s as if something is circling inside of me, expanding, riding around faster and faster, harder and harder…

He nips at my neck, and I make another agitated sound. He gnaws at the tender spot below my ear, and I rock my hips up even higher.

“Fuck,” he says again.

Everything speeds up as he takes his fingers out of me and spins me around so that I’m facing him, my thighs straddling his hips. When I see his eyes, my heart nearly suspends its frantic beating—he looks as if he’s gone over an edge, fevered. I barely have time to exhale before he grips my shirt and pulls it apart, sending the rest of the buttons flying. Then he lifts me up, latching his mouth to my breast, sucking and laving and kissing my nipple, bringing it to a peak.

Nearly crying out, I bury my fingers in his thick hair, grasping it while urging him closer to me. He scoops his hand into the front of my boxers again, plunging his finger up and into me, then out, finishing what he started. That familiar circling pressure intensifies inside my core, pulsing, pounding.

He murmurs against my breast. “You’re so fucking hot. So fucking wet. So fucking tight.”

He swirls his finger inside of me, then nudges it back toward him so that he hits something that I never knew I had. Electricity surges, blowing a circuit that makes everything in my head and body burst. I cry out as my sight goes black, then lights up again with a white boom that hisses and tears through me. But in the next moment, colors seer back into my vision, and I see Eli above me as he lays me down on the sofa cushions, his finger still inside of me. It’s hard to breathe, but with every breath I do take, I come alive that much more.

“So fucking tight,” he says again.

I don’t want him to ask me why that is.

“It’s almost like you’ve never…” he starts to say.

Don’t go there.

“Orgasmed?” I say, blocking his question. I laugh a little, and it sounds slightly insane.

This isn’t the time for a conversation about my virginity. I don’t want to see that fire in his eyes cool off when he realizes that I’m way more innocent than he believed. He’ll think I’m a loser. He’ll think there’s something wrong with me because I’ve never been with a guy before.

When he pulls his finger out of me, I immediately feel emptier. Is he ending this?

“It’s just been a long time,” I say quickly, lying through my teeth again. “I don’t sleep around.” Well, that part’s true.

He pauses, but in the next instant, the heat flames up in his gaze. The challenge-loving player is back. He obviously likes that he’s part of an exclusive, limited-membership club. More exclusive than he realizes.

As he takes in the sight of me lying on my back, my shirt gaping to expose my breasts, he smiles in that predatory way that makes me go hot again. He reaches down to my boxers and tugs at them until the waistband rides just above my mound. Then he looks at me, daring me to tell him to stop.

No way. I only breathe, praying for him to go on before my common sense returns.

He pulls at the boxers some more, guiding them down my hips. He gazes at my most private parts, and I wonder if the women he’s usually with get waxed. All I can afford to do is shave, and there’s stubble there which has grown out a bit since I wasn’t planning for this.

He’s visually devouring me, and my sex pumps, my clit hurting in such a good damned way. All it would take is a touch from him…

His smile disappears as he brings my boxers over my calves then my feet, then throws them away. This is it. I’m giving in to him, and my body’s happy about it, throbbing, getting pummeled by desire.

“Show me, Jenna,” he says.

“Show you…what?”

I think I know this one, but I’m not used to men talking to me like this—bluntly, with every dirty sexual intention lit up in his eyes.

I swallow. Should I spread my legs and show him everything?

I have no idea where my common sense goes as I bend my knees, then open slightly for him.

He pushes the hair back from his face as he watches me, still eating me up with his intense gaze.

“Goddamn,” he whispers. “I knew you’d have a beautiful pussy, pink and wet.” His eyes lock with mine. “Just tell me yes. Tell me you want this. Tell me that one word so I can be inside you.”

I can see how his cock is hard and long, even if he’s covered by his jeans. I’m pulsating for him, and I want this more than anything, but this is still a bad idea. Isn’t it? Because once this stops being a business deal, everything will change. But would that be such a terrible thing?

Prostitute, I remind myself. You’d be a transaction.

And that’s the one magic thought I needed.

He rests his hands on my knees, gently pushing them apart even more. His covetous eyes tell me how much he wants me, and his cocky smile says the rest: You won’t be disappointed. Guaranteed.

“Admit it,” he says quietly but roughly. “You want to feel my cock slipping and sliding in you, making you come for me again.”

You bet I do.

But wait—bad idea. That’s right. This is a very, very bad idea.

Nearly sighing in exasperation, I close my knees. His hands grip them, but he doesn’t do anything else.

After a few moments, he says, “I know what you’re thinking, Jenna. But I’ve got a clean bill of health.”

“Excellent to know.” And, speaking of tell-alls, I’m also on the Pill, but only because of the menstrual migraines I used to get. We’re good to go except for the fact that I’ve come to my senses and won’t be his convenient plaything.

Damn, why do I have to have standards like this?

He must see that I’ve set a boundary—yes, I’ve finally done it—but from his ultra-confident attitude, he hasn’t given up just yet. He merely strokes his palms down my calves then stands off the couch.

“No problem,” he says. “When you’re ready, you’ll come to me.”

Umm…what?

I sit up and yank my shirt closed, yet I don’t deny what he’s saying. The lining of my belly is quivering, begging for another orgasm. But, seriously—he thinks I’m going to come to him?

Eli rests his hands on his hips, as careless as can be. “And when you do come to me, make sure you’re wearing that pink nightie you had on the other night.”

At the reminder of how he caught me wearing the sheer gown, I blush. He might’ve even seen me pleasuring myself, but he’s withholding that information, probably because it gives him some power. I seethe, because he’s so right about my wanting this, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay away from him.

“Maybe you’ll come to me,” I say.

“Jenna.” His voice has gone quiet and rough again, and when I look up at him, I see that he’s dead serious. “I’m waiting for you to say yes. And when you do, you’re never, ever going to get fucked like I’ll fuck you. You can damned well believe that.”

There’s nothing for me to say as he leaves the room, because I know he’s right.

It’s just a matter of how long I can stay away.