Touch Me, Daddy
It's sharp and urgent, twisting inside me, and I blow out a steadying breath as I place one hand on her sneaker.
Gardenia watches me, cheeks flushed, as I draw my hand over her ankle. Up her bare shin. Up, up, over her knee, her smooth thigh, the frayed hem of her shorts.
"Ambrose," she squeaks. My hand skates over her hip, then I swap to my left, tracing her waist, her ribs, the soft side of her breast, all through her baggy t-shirt. Gardenia lies there and lets me feel the length of her body, possessiveness pounding out a rhythm in my chest.