I find him irresistable, but he's not mine. He loves me, but not "that way". I want him so badly but I mustn't touch. We are both aware of the situation but we don't let it interfere with our friendship.
But, sometimes, I just can't help myself.
All day long, I've been touching him--light caresses as I pass by, stroking his hair, small kisses and whispered innuendo.
I know it's wrong, a betrayal, and yet...
I'm looking for a reaction, any reaction. All day, he's been ignoring my actions, or purposely misinterpreting them. But it's getting to him. I can see it in his eyes - like a cornered animal - desperation.
One more brush of my fingertips, the heat of my hand penetrating through fabric to skin. And I see it.
Reaction.
My wrists are crushed in a bruising grip, my arms pulled up over my head. Back slammed against the wall. Pelvis ground against me. He's hard, so hard.
"Damn it," he hisses, "is this what you really want?"
Angry eyes bore into me. There is violence in that look.
Hoarsely, I whisper, "Yes."
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