Page 33 of That One Touch

Cassie rolled her hips against his and he was mentally calculating how quickly he could get her naked when a bolt of sense rushed into his brain.

This is happening in your hallway. In your home. Where your daughter is, motherfucker.

And this is her teacher. Your band mate. And if you fuck this up your brother will be pissed.

He never knew thoughts could be like cold water, but he felt icy as he pulled back, gently releasing his hold on her until Cassie’s feet met the ground.

Oh.

Shit.

What the hell had he just done?

His skin was still electric. His body still pulsing. Like an addict looking for its next fix. He stepped back, putting distance between them, all too aware of the thick swell of his dick still pressing against the seam of his jeans.

“I should go,” she whispered.

He nodded, because that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? For her to leave and forget that this ever happened. No coffee required.

“Thank you for bringing Lola home,” he said roughly.

She ran her tongue along her bottom lip. It fucking hypnotized him. “No problem.”

Tugging at the hem of her hoodie, she covered the sliver of flesh he’d revealed with his touch. “I guess I’ll see you at rehearsal.” There was a flash of a smile and then it was gone.

He walked over to the door, pulling it open, then stepping aside so she didn’t touch him as she passed.

Say something, motherfucker.

But what could he say that wouldn’t make everything worse?

She was on the porch now, her keys in her hand. She pressed the button on them and her car lit up. Then she turned and walked down the steps to his driveway.

“Cassie?”

She turned back to look at him. “Yes?”

“Drive carefully.”

“I will.”

He stood in the doorway until she’d gotten safely in her car and started the engine, the headlamps illuminating his beast of a truck.

And then she reversed out, and he closed the door, frowning as he realized his dick was still semi hard.

Jesus Christ, he needed to get a life. Or touch himself until he stopped thinking about the way her ass felt in his palms.

Why was it everything he touched turned to shit? His band, his marriage, his kid’s dance teacher?

The only good thing he’d done was keeping that little girl upstairs happy.

And that’s the most important thing, he reminded himself.

Nothing else mattered. Just Delilah. And that’s why he wouldn’t kiss her dance teacher again.

Chapter

Nine

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