She places a finger on my chest and pushes. It roams, feral and restless, through my body, prowling under my skin, throbbing at the base of my spine, and tightening my balls. Or maybe it’s been building for years, but my need for her is ravenous. Her chest hitches, and her gaze lowers to my lips. “You have no idea how badly I want to kiss the insolence off your face.” I lurch through the space between us, put my mouth an inch from hers, and inhale her fuming breaths. Then she slowly turns her neck and scowls the sexiest scowl I’ve ever seen. Her hands flatten on her thighs, and she straightens in the seat. Her head whips forward, and she releases a choked oomph. I punch the brake so hard the inertia sends her careening against the shoulder belt. “What phrases did you search on? How to repair a ruined girl?” I spent six years researching all the ways I can help her. “Oh God, Jake.” She continues to laugh, but it’s mocking and forced. She stares at me with overly bright eyes then collapses over her lap in an outburst of laughter. Her mouth opens, forming a half-stunned, half-smiling O of disbelief. “You’ll be in a classroom or in a bar with no one around to hold you through the aftermath.” “There’s a good chance you won’t be in a controlled environment when it happens.” I pause, searching my mind for scenarios. She clenches her jaw, silent but listening.
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