46

SIXTEEN

After a short silent debate, I stand on the ottoman and walk to him. But when I move to straddle him, he shakes his head. “No. Turn around. Lie down.” When I don’t immediately obey, he moves me how he wants me. Urging me onto my stomach facing the window, my shins and feet bent up against the back of the couch. It feels strange and awkward and it’s made worse by the fact we aren’t touching.

He must sense my confusion, because he rumbles out a laugh as he takes the remote and puts a movie on. “You don’t remember this.”

It’s only when the opening credits of a bullshit action movie start that I go still. “I was lying between you two like this.”

“Yes.” He tosses one of the throw blankets over my lower half and then nudges my legs wider. “Just. Like. This.” And then his hand is there, burrowing under the blankets and sliding up to bracket my inner thigh. “You were wearing a skirt nearly as short as this. Were you hoping I'd finger you?”

Embarrassment and desire twine through me. “