Yasmin

I bit down on my lower lip as I watched him. My face was flushed with embarrassment. I hated how aroused I was, even though he was not touching me. I tried to blame it on something else, my ovulation, which was days away. I blamed his expert fingers, but he had barely touched me, and I was a water fountain down there.

He looked at me with that darned cheeky smile. I couldn’t see what he was doing; his body shielded the artwork from me, but he looked really proud of it. As if he could read my thoughts, he whispered softly, “You’re going to like it, I...