As if it can keep my unruly nature contained, I pull my coat tight, tight, all the way up my chin, hiding as much skin as possible so Mr. Jones can't see that I've become flushed in his presence. Normally the dreadful throbbing between my legs comes from idleness. Being left to my own devices for too long.
This is different. His sheer masculinity is causing the ache this time.
None of the men in town have inspired this twisting ripple in my belly. Not ever. Not even close. It's only when I look at Mr. Jones do I think inexcusable thoughts. Such as...
Would I be able to breathe with him on top of me?
What would his hands feel like on my knees, the insides of my thighs, while pushing them open?
How much hair does he have on his big chest? Surrounding his s*x?
God. It's humiliating.
"H
