Broken by Lisa Edward

fetching the coffee. “Very nice,” he mumbled, running his free hand up my side until it came to rest only a whisker away from the swell of my breast, then licked his lips.
    I nearly dropped on the spot. Not to my knees—well, okay, the thought had crossed my mind more than once in the last week, but no—rather I nearly fainted from all those darn pheromones surrounding me.
    “So can I read what you have so far?” He stepped away and I slumped, needing to brace myself against the counter, not having realized I’d been standing tensed and not breathing. “Promise I won’t grade your work.”
    It was risky. Apart from the lack of sexy time between the characters, it was just a draft, and he was an English teacher. I knew he’d be reading it with his metaphorical red pen, correcting my work as he went. But it also might be a great opportunity to get a different perspective on the story. Although it was primarily aimed at women, would it hurt to get a male’s point of view?
    I shrugged. “I guess you can read it, sure.” I plonked myself down in the chair by the computer, needing to steady my legs after our chest-to-chest contact. Hesitating, I looked around, trying to figure out the logistics. “You’ll have to read it from the screen, seein’ as I don’t have a printer.”
    I went to stand but he raised his hand to stop me, indicating that I should stay seated.
    “I’ll just lean over your shoulder, if that’s okay with you?”
    Before I had a chance to tell him absolutely it was okay with me, he had placed his coffee on the table beside the laptop and was leaning his forearms on the back of my chair, his hot, coffee-scented breath fanning my neck and cheek.
    Closing my eyes, I took a deep calming breath and counted to four, then exhaled slowly. Nervously, I scrolled to the top of the first page; then, not knowing what to do with myself, I leaned awkwardly to the right to get out of the way.
    “Relax.” His hand rested on my shoulder and squeezed, guiding me back to the center of the chair. I waited for him to remove his hand, but he didn’t. Instead it stayed lightly in place, his long fingers brushing the sensitive skin just below my ear.
    How could anyone relax under these circumstances? I was a big ball of goo and heaving bosoms under his touch.
    As he read softly to himself, I followed the story, scrolling the pages at the appropriate times. At the point where the main character met her suitor, he squeezed my shoulder and brushed his whiskered jaw against my hair. “Hmm, I like that bit,” he commented, pointing to the paragraph he’d just read.
    I relaxed, resting my head back against his broad chest. So far, so good. Then it came into view, the first of many SEX SCENE magenta sections.
    “What’s this?” he queried, indicating to the placeholder that was like a neon sign.
    Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw his furrowed brow, and sighed. “I ain’t feelin’ some of the scenes, so I’ve tagged ’em for later.” Truth was, I was feeling the chemistry between the characters—I just didn’t know how to express what I was feeling in words that would do any justice to the scenes I wanted to write.
    He grunted, but didn’t offer any advice. Instead he kept reading until the end of what I had written to date.
    “This is really good,” he finally commented, still leaning on the back of my chair. “I particularly liked…” He reached forward and took control of the mouse to find the favored paragraphs, and in the process, completely encompassed me in his arms.
    I felt faint. He was way too much man for me to handle. He smelled too good, all earthy and salty from his swim, and his body was just too hard and, well, perfect. But by God, I was willing to give it a try.
    He found the part he enjoyed the most and read it again. “This part is especially good.”
    Finally he stood, and the space around me felt cold and empty.
    “Don’t sound so surprised. I know my old stories were