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A groan rolls off my lips.
He traces that line with his middle finger. His ring finger. His pinkie. Then he works his way back again. Ring. Middle. Index. Thumb.
My eyelids press together.
My sex clenches.
My toes curl into my sandals.
He does it again—all five digits in both directions.
Every brush of his fingers sends heat right to my sex.
“Look at me, baby.”
His eyes are filled with this intoxicating mix of lust and control.
Ryan is an evil tease.
He’s a fucking sex god.
Fourteen months without and he’s still a fucking sex god.
“You have any fucking idea what it does to me, seeing you here all day?” He plants a hard kiss on my lips.
“You have any idea what it does to me?” My hands dig into his hair. I hold his head against mine and kiss him hard.
I suck on his top lip.
He scrapes his teeth against my bottom lip.
Then his tongue is sliding in my mouth. And all my words are floating away.
Words seem so much less important than this.
Everything seems so much less important than this.
It’s like every single molecule in my body is a neon sign flashing Ryan Ryan Ryan.
He pulls back with a needy sigh.
His fingers curl into my inner thighs. His eyes bore into mine. “You drive me out of my fucking mind, Leigh. I see you flirting with guys and I start thinking about throwing them out of the fucking shop.”
“What else?”
“Fuck. With the way you dress?” He presses his lips to my neck. “I spend half my time trying to get thoughts of stripping you to nothing out of my head.”
“For how long?”
“Too long.”
“When you’re doing a tattoo?”
“Sometimes.” He pushes the strap of my sundress off my shoulder. His hand goes to my chest. He cups my breast over my bra.
Then his thumb is dipping beneath the nylon.
Brushing against my nipple.
