Free Lust Is the Thorn by Jen McLaughlin

if I didn’t touch her or myself, and I just watched her…that wasn’t breaking any of my ironclad rules. I wasn’t going back to that bad place I’d once basked in. “Prove it. Show me what makes you feel good.
I
need to see
.”
    Understanding crossed her face, and she slipped her hand under her shirt. “How badly do you need it?”
    “You’d never believe me.” I stepped closer, my attention locked on her hand under her shirt. I’d never wanted to burn an article of clothing so badly before. “I need you to lift your shirt. Show me what you’re doing to yourself.”
    She dropped her head back, bit her lip, and lowered her hand. Slowly, oh so slowly, she lifted her shirt, baring her pale, creamy flesh. Her waist was narrow, and I could make out every rib under her pale flesh. She had another rose tattoo, this one under her right breast, and I wanted nothing more than to trace it with my tongue.
    It had only one thorn, just like her other rose tattoo.
    Groaning, I lifted my hand, fully intending to touch it, but she clucked her tongue and dropped the shirt back into place. “Uh-uh. You said you wanted to watch, not touch. And I don’t want to be a bad influence….”
    “If you don’t pull that damn shirt back up—” I gritted my teeth, letting my hand fall back to my side. It had never felt as empty as it did now. “Do it.
Now
.”
    Her cheeks flushed, and she did as told, yanking it high enough that I could finally see the dusky pink buds on her breasts. Her nipples were hard and puckered, and it took every ounce of discipline in me not to grab her, smash her against the wall, kiss her, and take her hard and fast. Every. Damn. Ounce. But that’s not what she needed, and it’s not who I was. Or, that is, it’s not who I was supposed to be now.
    So I didn’t move.
    Didn’t break.
    She dragged her hand across her nipple, tugging on it. A small moan escaped her, and she pulled even harder. Her breath quickened, and mine sped up to match hers. She scratched her nails down her stomach, leaving a trail of red lines behind that made me forget all about the bruises on her neck, her breathing ragged.
“Thorn.”
    “I’m here,” I said, my voice wavering. “Right here. Keep going. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
    “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured you doing this to me.” She curled her good hand over her core, moving her fingers in a circular motion as her lids drifted shut. Her splinted arm remained safely out of the water. “And this. God, when you touch me like this, in my head, I go crazy.”
    “Don’t. Don’t you dare look away from me.” I slammed a hand by her head, leaning in, breathing in her scent, and locked gazes with her. “Rougher. Faster.
Now
.”
    The force of her eyes latching on to mine as her hand moved faster affected me in ways no one ever had before. Not just the sexual act and the physical turn-on; it was as if it was actually
my
hand on her, and not her own.
    As if we were connected somehow.
    Which made no sense at all, and yet somehow did.
    A strangled groan escaped me, and I dropped my forehead to meet hers, closing my hand around her biceps. It was the closest I could get to touching her, to making her come, without actually doing so. That was a line I couldn’t cross, no matter how much I might want to. “I’ll answer your earlier question, if you promise not to stop making yourself squirm.”
    She nodded, her breath escaping in a whoosh as her fingers circled her clit. “I-I promise.”
    “Yes. I have dirty thoughts. And yes, I wake up with my hand on my cock, and my breath coming out fast, seconds from orgasm. And every damn time, I talk myself down. Every damn time, I hold back, because it’s what I’m supposed to do. Who I’m supposed to be.” I swallowed a moan and skimmed my finger over her damp skin. Her hand moved faster as I spoke, and I would have given anything to be that hand, just for a second. “And every time, it’s you I see