Page 68 of Love Complicated

Oh God, look at that. He’s aroused. Well, a little bit. I can’t imagine that’s its full potential.

He smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Um, that. . . .” Christ, I can’t even say the word sex. It’s been that long it feels like a forbidden word. Instead, I motion to the table and might even make a humping motion. I don’t know at this point. My heart is beating so fast I’m dizzy and don’t remember. “Against the table.”

“Don’t tempt me. It’d be fun to taint your pristine criminal record with indecent exposure. Not that anyone around here’d give a shit, but I bet they’d watch.” He watches my reaction to his words. “Christ, you blush every time you look directly at me.”

“Because you’re naked. Why didn’t you lock the door?”

He shrugs. “It’s broken.”

Oh, well that explains it, doesn’t it? And I’m still staring at his monster cock. It’s like seeing the sun and knowing you shouldn’t look at it, but it’s still fascinating to see how long you can actually look at it before spots form in your eyes.

Holy shit, he has the most beautiful cock. I’ve only seen two in person but still, perfect, perfect, perfect.

Guess what? He knows it. You’ve seen the Capitan Morgan commercials, right? He’s standing like that, displaying his dick to me.

I’m just kidding. He’s not, but he should be.

Focus, Aly!

“Where are the keys?”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “What keys?”

I drop my stare to the floor. “For the ticket booth.”

“In my jeans.”

“And they are?” I try—God do I try–to only lift my eyes to his, but instead, I do another full body scan. Toe to—stopping in the middle, pause, okay, continue—head.

The grin widens, and he winks, motioning over his shoulder. “On my bed.”

“Can I have them?”

I tilt my head sideways, refusing to move. “Are you going to let me have them?” I huff.

His eyes, lazy yet brooding, make a leisurely tour of my body. He gives a teasing smile that says, come get them.

“Sure.” He nods to the bedroom behind him. “They’re on my nightstand.”

“Can you give them to me?”

“No.” He chuckles, shaking his head, and I close my eyes, trying not to let his voice make me do something I’m going to regret. “You can get them yourself.”

I hold my breath, my lungs burning. I let it out, slowly against the pressure building inside me. “Ridge,” I warn, or breathe, probably the latter of the two. It sounds damn near erotic.

“Aly,” he mocks, laughing, and turns around.

I repeat. Turns. Around.

God, help me. No, really. God. . . are you there? If so, how do I resist him? Any ideas?

Why am I resisting?

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