“Just trying to figure out how good you are at acting.” “You think I’m acting?” “I don’t know what’s what anymore.” His palm slides down my back, cupping my ass, and pulling my hips into his where I’m met with a bulge hitting just above the apex of my thighs. “Does this feel fake to you?” My breath catches. “Jealousy turns you on?” “Nah. No need to be jealous when I know what’s mine. I’m the one you’re going home with.” As if every last feminist bone has left my body, I melt into him.
