She pictured his body bent over the table where they worked, her palm connecting with his tight white briefs, the slight tremble in his athlete’s thighs. Closing her eyes, she could feel the rove and squeeze of her hand on his buttock, the smooth skin of his back. What got to her most were his arms, strong and lithe. She thought the T-shirt tan line made the flesh of his bicep seem more vulnerable, smooth as it was. His bitten nails matched her own and reminded her that there was insecurity buried beneath his cocky demeanor. What she wanted most was to be enfolded in the protective circle of those arms, to feel his heartbeat against her cheek through his chest. To cheer at the side of the pitch as he competed, or watch him laze on the grass, one knee c****d, in the sunshine, smiling a smil
