The pit of my stomach ached and fire spread over my thighs. The arm of the sofa happened to be behind me. A good thing. My heart beat thundered in my ears, and in other places I didn’t understand.

My eyes widened as Emilie reached for me.

Her cool fingers grazed my left pectoral muscles, velvet brushing granite. Emilie’s eyes followed her fingers. She traced the outline of my abs, and then took my hand.

My heart rate accelerated as if I had pumped iron for thirty minutes straight.

I couldn’t move.

Emilie stood on her tiptoes. When her mouth touched mine, a new need I couldn’t understand compelled me to scoop her into my arms. As her soft moan filled my mouth, an alarm jangled in my head. Per my programming, this sort of touching was forbidden.

I stiffened.

She drew away slightly, her wide gaze begging for something. It was the look she’d given me so often, but I still had no clue what it meant. Light from the television illuminated her features in a beautiful, blue glow.

Synapses in my brain sent even louder warning signals to the area that controlled my urges, but there was a sizzling sound of wires as if they were crossed and melting. I had to let my knees buckle. The arm of the sofa saved me from falling on the floor. I withdrew my arms and held tight to the soft, plush material.

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