Hexed (Never After, #6)

by Emily McIntire

But I make sure not to touch her. I can’t keep touching her. Not right now, not when I’m feeling like this. Instead, my hands surround hers on the edge of the sink, my thumbs centimeters away from meeting her pinkies. She looks down at them and shifts on her feet. When she moves, her ass pushes into me, and I bite the inside of my cheek so hard, I taste blood. I exhale slowly, gritting my teeth so I don’t do something crazy like reach out and dig my fingers into the meat of her hips while I drop to my knees, rip off her skirt, and put my mouth on her cunt. The visual alone…Christ. Self-loathing mixes into the lust I’m feeling like a volatile cocktail; it’s an internal war where I’m both the savior and the villain. I grab a hand towel from where it’s hanging on the wall, hyperaware of how she’s tracking my every movement. I swear it feels like she’s lighting me on fire, and it’s fucking torture because I can’t give in to the feeling, I don’t want to give into it…but I can’t pull away either. Placing the cloth under the running water, I find myself wishing the tepid temperature would douse the fervor blanketing the air, but I know better than to assume it will. Instead, we just exist in this vortex of energy until it’s physically painful to keep my body from falling into hers, and I have to remind myself she’s more off-limits to me than any other woman in the world. When I take the damp fabric and move it to her right hand, wiping away the specks of blood dotting her skin in...

I like this entire thing, immensely!