He roams a hand along the outside of my thigh. I’ve never been more grateful to be wearing a skirt. His strong palm travels down my leg, and I whimper. I actually whimper. It just feels so good. His touch is nothing like the caresses I’ve received from other men I’ve dated. Wilder is strong, determined, and focused completely on me. When he reaches the hem of my skirt, he plays with it then murmurs, “What am I going to do with you?” Touch me. But I’m afraid to say that out loud. Afraid to voice how potent this lust has become.
