On my couch. On top of me. In my bed. In—Dammit. I needed to keep these images at bay. Because ever since he had held my hand, touched my arm, tucked the hair behind my ear, all I could think about was the wicked things I wanted him to do to me. Nope, nope, nope. We weren’t going there while I was on the phone with him. Not thinking about his finely sculpted arms picking me up or his fingers running over my bare skin. Nope.
