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“You could just share my bed.”
“Not without touching you,” I tell her bluntly.
“I’ve shared a bed with Astrid a number of times and she’s a huge bed hog. I’d survive.”
“That’s not what I meant. At all. And you know it.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“You don’t know that.” I tuck my hands into the pockets of my joggers. “You’ve never been touched the way I would touch you.”
I don’t know why I’m poking at this.
General annoyance, probably. She’s so goddamned tempting and I’m trying to be a good guy here, dammit, and…fuck. I want to touch her so badly I’m aching with it. I want to push her away. I wantherto help me.
She lifts her shoulder in a small shrug. “I like every way you’ve ever touched me.”
My body tightens.
She has no idea the things I want to do to her.
“And I touch myself and like that. Seems like I would like you touching me that way.”
Lust slams into me.
Jesus. Christ.
“Linnea,” I say low and firm.
“Yes?”
I want to know all the ways she touches herself. Does she really slide her fingers into her pussy or does she just play with her clit? How many fingers? How deep? Does she orgasm that way?
“Go to bed,” I tell her.
She looks surprised, then disappointed.
She blows out a breath and turns away. “Goodnight, Jonah.”
It won’t be. It will be restless as hell now.
“Goodnight, Duchess.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m on the mattress, in a T-shirt and boxers. The lights are off, everything is quiet, I should be drifting off.
But there’s no fucking way.
This whole night with Linnea, this wholetrip, is playing through my mind. Every single word.
She thought I didn’t want her.
She truly sees me.
She trusts me.
She loves my touch.
She touches herself.