Touch Me, Daddy
My pulse throbs in my wrists, my throat, and… other places.
But what am I doing, touching him? Teasing my arch nemesis boss, like we’re becoming friends? I’m here for one reason alone: to make this man feel like a steaming pile of horse shit.
So I yank my hand back, and I should feel good about the flicker of hurt across his handsome face.
I don’t. I don’t feel good.
Snatching up Mike Wazowski, I squeeze him until his giant eye bulges. He lets out a long, tortured squeak.