My Only Vice. Elizabeth Bevarly

set the mug on a different shelf from the clean ones. Then he looked at Rosie again.

      Big mistake, he immediately realized. Because where before she had looked incredibly, well…turned-on, now, suddenly, she looked thoroughly and profoundly aroused. Not only that, but she hadn’t dropped the hand with which she’d been reaching for his mug, and it still hovered near Sam’s shoulder, as if she were having trouble deciding what she wanted to do with it.

      And suddenly, completely unbidden, Sam had a very good idea of what she should do with it. Not only that, but he had a good idea for his own hand, too. In fact, the idea was so strong, and so demanding, he couldn’t push it out of his brain. Because there, in his mind’s eye, he saw himself and Rosie, standing right where they were in the middle of the flower shop, her fingers wrapped possessively around his cock as she jerked him to completion, him with his long middle finger buried in her damp slit as he drilled her for all he was worth.

      And good God, where had that thought come from? he wondered as he did his best to squash it. More to the point, why wasn’t it going anywhere, no matter how hard he tried to push it away?