He’s Just Not That Into You

Kieran was still bending down, his head about level with my thighs. I almost yelped when I felt a hand on my left ankle. I looked down. He wasn’t looking at me. His left hand was still working on the shoelace, as if it was just so darned complicated to tie. The fingers of his right hand were curled around my ankle, sending a shiver up my spine. I bit my lower lip. He got to his feet, unhurried. His fingers moved up. I tried inching away but there was no place for me to go. I was cornered. His fingertips were cold. I was wearing ultra-thin pantyhose that day. His touch made my knees grow weak. I tried not to squirm. I held my Saint Laurent clutch bag in front of my body as if it could shield me from him. It couldn’t. When he jammed his fingers into me, I almost moaned out loud. All my senses were riveted on that spot south of my waist, currently being invaded by a Christian Grey wannabe. I didn’t notice when the lift had stopped. When the door dinged open, I swore that was the best soun