Ocean (Damage Control 5)

I have to stop myself from stepping up to him and sliding my arms around him. “Glad he’s better.”

“So he says.” Ocean shrugs off his jacket. “Damn boy is too proud to accept help.”

“He’s not the only one.”

He frowns, points toward the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

“Why not?” Let go. Brace. “Whatcha got?”

“Jack.” He takes the bottle out of a cupboard, and two glasses. “That’s all I got, sorry.”

“That’s fine.”

I’m not fond of whiskey, but even just having a glass in my hands might be good. Why am I so jittery? I had sex with this guy, for chrissakes. I know what his cock tastes like, how it feels like inside me.

Heat spreads up my stomach to my boobs. The tips tighten painfully.

God, just one more touch. One more kiss. One more tumble in his bed. Even if my heart shatters afterward, when he tosses me away like all the girls he slept with before.

“Here you go.” He passes me a glass, and in one swift motion, he downs his. He pours more for himself.

“That must be a hell of a test you have in mind,” I mutter and sip at the whiskey, feeling it burn down my throat.

“It is.” He downs the rest of the Jack and slams the glass on the counter. “Yeah.”

Feeling unsettled, curious and kind of scared, I retreat back to the living room. The kitchenette is too small and full of memories—of him kissing me, touching me, making me come.

“So why did you invite me over? Like, really?” I take another sip and wander around the room, checking it out, something I wasn’t able to do much while Jason crashed here. He has a shelf with books—some thrillers, some sci-fis, a couple about art. A few about cars.

I’m frowning, reaching up to take one of the latter, when he walks up right behind me and stops my hand from taking the book.

“Kay.”

I slowly turn around. We’re so close I feel the heat of his body.

He takes a step back, taking a sip of his glass.

My glass all but forgotten in my hold, I take a step forward. It slips from my finger.

He makes a grab for it before it falls and pushes me back against the shelves. He puts both glasses there, his chest brushing mine.

Again he draws back. His eyes are dark, boring into me, but he isn’t touching me. There’s an inch or two between us.

It feels like miles.

“Blue…” I whisper, wondering if this dizzy feeling is due to the whiskey or his nearness. I lift my hand to his face.

He catches it, drawing a sharp breath at the same time. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls me off the shelves, stepping away again.

It’s just like it, I think dazedly. Like a dance. We’re dancing around each other.

And then the dance changes. He stops moving and pulls me flush against him. My boobs are mashed to the hard planes of his chest, and his arms go around me, his hands sliding up my back.

“Is this your test?” I whisper.

“Yeah. I’m testing myself. I wanted to see if I can be around you and not touch you or kiss you.”

“And can you?”