Yet for whatever reason, Rhys’s slights got under my skin. Why did I even care?
But I already knew.
Because it was him.
I didn’t want him to be just another douchebag in a sea of many. At the same time, I had no right to those expectations. I also had no right to be bothered when he didn’t meet them.
The rest of my anger was zapped from my body, leaving me embarrassed and exhausted.
Worse than that, failure hung over my head like my own personal acid rain cloud. It was my first time undercover, and I’d bombed at staying detached.
It was a lesson learned—and one I wouldn’t need repeated—but it still sucked.
“Okay, cool. We’re in agreement.” I flashed a grin, not letting in a single glimmer of my real emotions. “We better get back out there.”
I wasn’t sure if I was turning into a shitty actor, or Rhys had more than two brain cells rubbing together and was smart enough to catch on that what he’d said was rude. Either way, his hold on my wrist tightened to one step below painful—or one step below earning a punch to the dick—and he continued talking. “Your thighs aren’t sticks, but they’re also not fat. They’re muscular and soft. So fuckin’ soft.” The description could’ve been taken as an insult, but the reverent tone made it clear it was the opposite. He backed it up by dropping his voice and asking, “Did it ever enter your stubborn head that I smile when I touch ‘em because Ilikeit? And ’cause I thought you liked it, too.”
I wanted to believe him. God, did I want to believe him.
But that didn’t negate the other two points that’d come straight from the horse’s ass—er, mouth.
“Oh, sure, that must be it,” I said with a hefty amount of exaggerated happiness. “It’s justunbelievable,Sir.”
He loosened his grip while simultaneously moving my hand closer. Giving me the chance to stop him. I didn’t. He used his hold to graze my hand against his cock.
Hishardcock.
Holy shit.
His voice was rough. “Does this feel like I don’t like it?”
“Maybe.”
Since I hadn’t snatched my hand away, screamed, or tried to detach his erection from his body, he pressed my palm harder against him. “What about this is a maybe?”
“Maybe it’s a hate-boner.”
He chuckled, and even that sounded like gravel and honey. “It’s not.”
Like he needed to emphasize, underline, and bold that point, he ground my palm up his length. And I did mean up. The incredibly thick and impossibly long erection was restrained by his waistband as it stretched up his stomach.
For a brief second, I seriously thought it was fake. That was how unreal it seemed. But then he groaned, and the shaft jerked against my touch.
I wanted to make both happen again.
I didn’t get the chance.
Rhys shifted my hand and his own body away—and I didn’t want to think about how long I would’ve stood there if he hadn’t—but he didn’t release his hold on me. Instead, he bluntly laid it all out. “It’s unbelievable that you’d date an old fuck like me. Christ, I figured this whole thing would implode the first day ’cause no one would buy it. I keep my distance ’cause you’re here to do your job, and I’ve got no business sniffing around you. I touch you ’cause I fuckin’ suck at remembering that last point. Does that answer all your questions?”
“Almost.”
“What’d I miss?”
“We should have sex.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NEAT PART TWO, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO
