“No. I don’t think so.”
“How about self-absorbed and arrogant and…” I rack my brain for more epithets. “A navel-gazer?”
“I don’t know you well enough yet,” she says, still smiling.
“Okay. How about hot?”
“Hot?”
“Yeah, do you think I’m hot?”
Okay, I’m pushing it, but I need to move this to the next level. Holding my hand is a good step, but I need her to think about me as a man. As sex. As the thing that scares her. Can’t think of another way to fix this.
“Sure, you’re hot,” she says quietly, and I grin. She tugs her hand, trying to free it. I resist.
“What would you like to do with me?”
Her eyes widen. She tugs harder and I release her. She sits up, her hair falling in her face. “Do?”
“Yeah.” I fold both arms under my head, keep my body loose, my expression mild. “Do. With me. This body is yours for the night.”
“For one hour,” she corrects me.
Right.
She chews on her lower lip, and it’s sexy how she takes me in, as if for the first time. I swear I feel her gaze traveling over me, over my face, my chest, my stomach, down to my crotch, and I’m hardening inside my pants. It’s slow, maddening, as if her attention is dragging the blood down to my dick, filling it up. A sweet ache fills my lower body, making it heavy and warm.
Shit. Can’t remember the last time this happened to me, this getting hard not because I have to, not because I force myself to, but because a pretty girl is checking me out.
The realization is like a kick to the stomach. My life stopped that night Markus died. I guess I knew it somewhere deep inside my head, but I never stopped to think about it.
Stop to think how fucking sad it is that I haven’t felt this good in years, and she hasn’t even laid her hands on me.
We’ll work on that.
“You can touch.” I wink at her. “I won’t move. I promise.”
“Touch what?”
“Me.” I lick my lips, because Christ, this is turning me on like nobody’s business. Crazy. “Feel my body. No need to undress me.”
“No?”
“Well, not yet.” She hesitates and I fight the urge to grab her hands and put them on top of my throbbing hard-on. “Or ever, if you don’t want, Pax. This is your call. You’re in charge here.”
This is it. This is fucking it. The moment when she has to make up her mind if she wants to go through with it. If she wants to explore what scares her. If her desire is stronger than her fear.
I hold my breath as she clenches her small hands in her lap, a flush spreading over her cheekbones.
Come on, Pax...Come on.
She lifts one hand, trails it over my chest. Heat spreads where she touches, seeping through my T-shirt. Her eyes dart from her hand to my face and back, nervously, as if she’s afraid I’ll suddenly transform into a monster and bite her head off.
Dexter was like that. Hell, Batman is still like that. I need to reassure him every day that I won’t harm him. It takes a while—and yeah, trying to distract myself with my pets’ reactions isn’t fucking helping my hard-on.
Dammit, I’ll wait. I’ll take the time, if she’ll take it, too. Feels like a dark seduction where I’m not sure who is seducing who. I’m trying to tame her, and she’s driving me crazy. I’m asking her to touch me, and her touch is setting me on fire.
Jesus.