I cross a line. My hand darts out and I grip her wrist, pulling her hand down to slide it over my rock-hard cock. She doesn’t pull away. The only thing moving on her are her irises, tracing my face, her expression carefully blank. But then her fingers flex over my dick. She puffs out a breath and licks her lips as I groan and drop my head. The sliver of space between us crackles as one finger moves, running over the denim that divides us. Her touch is painfully, deliberately slow.
