“Ah. Makes sense.”
“How are you feeling? Okay?”
“Yes,” I say, but that’s not exactly true. Not when his hand is still wrapped around me and he’s still looking up at me, stealing my breath moment by moment.
And that’s what he does—he holds on to me and he stares. It’s so quiet in here I swear I can hear a clock faintly ticking away.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
But I’m not weirded out by it, and it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels…I don’t even know what. I just know I don’t want to move, and I don’t want Gavin to move. Except maybe closer. I wouldn’t be mad about that.
He must feel the same way because he does. Just an inch, maybe two, but it’s enough to make a big difference. Enough for me to be swimming in that cinnamon scent all over again. His fingers dance higher, skimming along the edge of my dress, and I’m suddenly very aware of how easy it would be to pull it higher and beg for his touch.
Beg for his touch?Oh, god. What’s gotten into me tonight? Were those amaretto sours more potent than I thought? Or am I just that desperate to be touched? Likely the latter. It’s been…I don’t even know how long at this point. Since a month after the wedding? That should have been another sign that something was wrong. What kind of newlywed isn’t eager to jump in the sack and stay there? Neal, apparently.
But I don’t want to think about him. Right now, I only want to think about Gavin’s hand on my leg, how his fingertips have just brushed under my dress again, how badly I want them to go higher. I watch him as he plays with my dress. There are deep lines on his forehead as he pulls his lips into a frown. He’s having a silent conversation with himself. I can tell. Like he’s wrestling with what to do next.
I know what Iwanthim to do next—kiss me. Touch me. Remind me what it’s like to feel wanted and beautiful.
But he doesn’t. No, he snatches his hand away like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, then swallows thickly.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, rising to his feet, and I stand along with him.
Except I misjudge just how close we really are and bump right into him. I feel myself falling backward in slow motion, and I couldn’t stop it even if I tried. I don’t know how it happens, and I’m not sure I want to know, but suddenly I’m lying on the bed and Gavin’s on top of me. His big thighs are pressed tight against me, one leg tucked between mine. An arm is wrapped around me, his fingers digging into the small of my back, and the other is stretched out by the side of my head. In my periphery, I can see the muscles in his forearm jump.
But that’s not my focus. No, it’s solely onhim. His eyes. His lips. The fact that he’s so damn close that all I’d have to do is lean up and I could see if he tastes like cinnamon too. I don’t have to, though, because suddenly Gavin is leaningdown. I hold my breath, waiting for… Actually, I’m not quite sure. A kiss? Yeah, a kiss would be nice.
He doesn’t do that, though. He veers right, his nose brushing along my cheek in the sweetest, softest touch. I hate it. I love it. I want him to kiss me. And in a way, he does. His lips graze gently over my cheek, moving up until he’s right under my ear. A pause. A lingering kiss. Then he’s dragging his mouth down, right to the corner of my lips.
Kiss me, I beg.
He doesn’t. No, he repeats the action again. Then again. I groan, frustrated at being frustrated because I shouldn’t want this strange man to kiss me, but I do. Gavin laughs, then pushes away just enough to peer down at me.
“Something wrong, love?”
Love.
I nod.
“What is it? Tell me. Use your words and tell me what you want.”
“I want…” I poke my tongue out, running it along my bottom lip, which suddenly feels dry.
My whole mouth does, and I think it has everything to do with how I’m being looked at. Like I’m a lamb awaiting the slaughter. Like I’m…prey. I’ve never wanted to feel like that before, but something about it just feels so…right.
Thisfeels right.
“I want you to kiss me.”
Gavin’s eyes darken, his brows furrowing like he’s struggling to hold himself back.
“You’re sure? Because once I kiss you, Nessa, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. I’m not sure I’ll want to. In fact, I know I won’t. If I kiss you…” He doesn’t finish his thought, but I know exactly what he’s trying to say.
If he kisses me, he’s going to keep kissing me.
If he kisses me, he’s going to want more.
If he kisses me, he’s going tofuckme.
