Her hand that’s holding mine on the table grips tighter. I lean down to whisper, “Tell me to stop.” She shakes her head no. With a knowing grin on my lips, I inch my hand higher. Words are spoken, but I’m not paying attention. I’m only watching Kennedy, noting the quickening of her pulse as I run my hand over her thigh. She bites her lip and it reads as if she were nervous. I give her leg a squeeze. “Kick my foot under the table.” “No,” she breathes. Fuck.
