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She’s also entirely tempting.

I can’t afford to think that way, but I’m also nothing more than a man now staring at the very ripe, very fresh young body of a girl who admitted last night she’s never been touched. Like that sort of admission isn’t supposed to give birth to a hundred filthy images? The only thing stopping me from touching her now is knowing she would talk through the whole event. Probably narrating every move, voicing every thought and fear.

I’ve always liked a vocal woman in bed, but I can do without a narrator.

Finally, I have to pry my eyes away from her before I cross the line between curiosity and perversion. I tiptoe through the bedroom, step into the bathroom, and close the door softly to preserve the peace for as long as I can.

That girl is the last thing I need on my mind. She’s dangerous, someone with the ability to steal my focus. There’s a target on my back. There’s no way to avoid being annoyed with myself as I get undressed and turn on the shower. Whoever this guy is, I have to find him. Nobody gets away with trying to kill me not once, but twice.

And using June as bait? Doubly unforgivable. We aren’t supposed to involve civilians in our line of work—a rookie, a newcomer, might step over the line, but the trap he laid last night tells me he’s no first-timer. He should know better.

I look forward to setting him straight once we cross paths again.

But instead of seeing the bruised face of my foe in my mind, visualizing how I’ll destroy him, all I see is a pair of lean legs, a perky ass pointed toward the ceiling. Familiar hunger starts to uncoil low in my belly, where the temperature has suddenly skyrocketed. I would turn down the water to cool myself off, but something tells me it wouldn’t help. She’s that determined to stay with me. Like a piece of gum I can’t scrape free.

By the time my cock is rigid and swollen, it’s clear I have a decision to make. Either I break in half under the weight of my body’s unfortunate attraction to hers, or I get her out of my system here and now. When I look at it that way—keeping in mind the way she distracts me—the answer is obvious.

After squirting bodywash into my palm, I close my fingers around my shaft and begin to pump in a slow, steady rhythm. My eyes close, shutting out what’s around me, giving me a chance to imagine myself back in bed with her. A virgin would be so easy to turn on. She’d be wet in a heartbeat, writhing, begging for me.

And I would put every single one of her little books to shame. She would learn there’s a big difference between porn and reality.

The only thing that keeps a groan from filling the steamy air is my clenched teeth. My fist tightens when I imagine how tight she must be. Probably tight enough to snap a man’s dick off. I can almost hear her whimpering and begging while my fist moves faster, in time with my imaginary pounding of her untapped pussy. Relentless, like I could fuck her hard enough to understand what makes her so damn intriguing.

It’s not myself I’m touching in the shower. It’s June. Her silky skin, flesh warm and smooth under my hands. I have to lean against the wall, bracing myself and moving faster as the tension grows. Racing for the finish.

And when it comes, my head snaps back, my world filled with nothing but the relief of emptying my balls and ridding myself of my craving. I have too much to do. There’s no room for her.

What a shame she decides to make herself known within moments of me turning off the water.

When the door flies open and crashes against the wall, I almost slip on the wet tile under my feet. Her high-pitched squeals are deafening thanks to the way her voice bounces around while she does the same. “Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee!”

Fuck me. There is no such thing as a break from her. When I fling the curtain open and reach for a towel, she lets out a yelp. “Oh my God!”

It takes all of half a second to understand her reaction. “What’s the problem?” I ask as I step out onto the bath mat, since making her squirm is becoming a hobby. After all, I have to get something out of this experience.

She’s still hopping from one foot to the other, fighting the urge of her bladder. “You’re naked!” Her gaze darts from the floor to my dick to the floor again while her fair cheeks go red. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry!”

“What? Do you normally shower with your clothes on?”

“Of course not! I just, you know . . . didn’t mean to break in on you. It’s just I really have to go and I waited as long as I could, and I was pretty sure you wouldn’t want me to pee in the bed, so—”

“I get it.” Still, I wait another beat or two, taking my time to grab the towel and wrap it around my waist, since she’s obviously enjoying staring at my dick. I wouldn’t want to deprive her or anything. Maybe she’ll write about it in her next book.

I can’t help snickering as I leave the room, while she practically slams the door behind me. She’s ridiculous in every imaginable way. But you’re the one who just finished jerking off to her. Which one of us is ridiculous?

I dress quickly, then pull out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt for her as an afterthought, leaving them on the bed and retreating to the kitchen before she emerges. She’s probably waiting for me to leave the room, burning with embarrassment. Probably burning with something else, come to think of it. She didn’t say she’s never touched herself, after all, did she? Only that she has no experience with men.

This has to stop.

I’m already halfway through an attempt at making scrambled eggs and toast by the time she practically tiptoes into the kitchen like a kid sneaking away from time-out. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

It looks like I finally figured out a way to get her to stop talking so much. I only have to flash my dick around and suddenly her tongue is tied. “There are plates in the cabinet to my right. Forks in the drawer.” When she comes into my line of sight, I add, “Oh, so you found the clothes I left out. Good thing. I don’t know how I would be able to finish making breakfast if you showed up naked.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Hey, it would only be fair after I flashed you just now.” Looking over my shoulder, I watch her shakily set our places at the table. Her face is red again—maybe still red, come to think of it. “Tell me the truth. Was that the first time you ever saw a man naked in person? No computer involved?”

I shouldn’t, but I’m a man who has spent too many years denying temptation in favor of what needs to be done. She’s like a release valve in that way.