The phone continues its shrill call from his pocket, and his head falls back to look at the ceiling with another pained groan. “I have to get that.” My eyes snap up to him, and like a child who knows she’s about to not get her way, I put my hand over his dick, palming it once more. It twitches beneath my hand. “What? No. No, you don’t. Ignore it.” “Unfortunately, I can’t. It’s my emergency line.” His fingers slide out of my hair, and he steps back. Without thinking, I mewl in protest, shoulders dropping as I pout. Pouting. Me, Josephine Montgomery. Pouting for a man. What the fuck is
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