I say, “Go ahead and break. No one’s stopping you.” His jaw hardens as he takes a rigid step toward me. A finger traces my nipple, pebbled beneath the water, before trailing down my belly. Just when I think I have him, he stalls, breathing heavily, and takes a large step backward. Wincing, he squeezes his heavy erection with one hand, then gives me a sad smile. “I’ve had my heart broken too many times. And you”—he shakes his head slowly—“I think you might ruin me.” I ignore the second disappointment—or is it the third?—of the evening. “I’m not offering love, just sex.” “That’s my problem,” he
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