Page 51 of Trashy Foreplay

Closing my eyes, I let my head rest against the headboard for a few moments. I’m so tired. Tired of trying to do the right thing, of trying to convince myself I can’t have him. My heart simply doesn’t believe it—not when every molecule in my body belongs to him.

Me: I don’t either.

Cash: Are you in bed?

Me: Yes.

Cash: There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.

Me: You can ask me anything.

Cash: Do you sleep naked?

My skin flushes hot, and I sink deeper into the soft sheets.

Me: Yes.

Cash: Are you naked now?

His question courses through my veins, turning me into a trembling mess. I press my thighs together, but it does nothing to stop the ache. In fact, part of me is convinced I’ll throb between my legs for the rest of my life for him. I swallow hard, fingers hovering over the on-screen keyboard as I try to decide whether to engage or walk away. He sends another text before I can decide either way.

Cash: Never mind. Imagining you naked is bad enough. Better to not even go there.

God, how I want to go there. As I tap out a response, I convince my broken conscious that we aren’t doing anything wrong. It’s only words.

Me: What would you say if I were?

Cash: I’d say the thought of you naked is turning me on like crazy.

A few heart-pounding seconds pass, then he fires off another forbidden message.

Cash: Then I’d tell you to spread your legs.

My legs part, and I can almost feel the phantom touch of his hands on my thighs, fingers gently prying me open. A breath shudders from my lips as I tap out a reply.

Me: Then what?

Cash: I’d tell you to touch yourself.

My free hand twitches to do his bidding. To find release while the memory of his voice dances through my head. I can hear his words so clearly, almost as if he’s whispering them into my ear.

Me: Then do it. Tell me to touch myself.

A full minute passes, and the utter silence is maddening. He probably came to his senses and put his phone away. Or his wife interrupted him. I’m green with jealousy as I imagine him touching her.

Now who feels betrayed?

Neither of us have any right to feel this way. Pining for someone you can’t have is one thing—but this level of possessiveness is insane. He doesn’t belong to me any more than I belong to him.

If only my stubborn heart would get onboard with that truth.

My cell rings, and I almost jump out of my skin. My hand shakes as I play with the idea of answering.

Don’t do it, Jules.

I tell that annoying voice to go to hell before swiping my thumb to the right. He doesn’t speak at first—only the sounds of our breathing ping back and forth.

“Jules…” He trails off on my name.

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