He tilts his head slightly. “Do you want more water?”
“No,” I answer quickly, then pause. “I mean, not right now.”
He considers me, gaze searching. “I could run you a bath,” he offers. “Help cool you down.”
“Yeah,” I say, then realize he hasn’t moved. “Yeah, that would be good.”
He’s still standing there, still holding my face. My heart is hammering. I have never seen him this close, never noticed the tiny scar near his brow.
He’s so fucking sexy. Why is he so fucking sexy?
“Caroline…” He’s giving me a strange look, and his cheeks look a little pink.
“Yes, Damon,” I breathe.
“I think we should get you in the bath. The heat is really messing with you.”
“It’s… fuck… It’s everywhere.”
“I know.” He traces his teeth with his tongue.
Fuck, I want to kiss him. I really want to kiss him. I wonder what he tastes like. Holy fuck, I need to kiss him.
“Please don’t. We… we can’t.” His eyes are darting around. His cheeks look even more pink.
Shit! “Did I just say that out loud?”
“You’re saying pretty much everything out loud, Caroline.”
Heat blooms in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I rush again. “I don’t know why I keep?—”
“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupts gently.
His thumb brushes my cheek, just under my eye. The touch is light. It’s devastating. His thumb hovers too close to my mouth. I know I should pull away. I know this is a bad idea layered on top of a worse one.
I move anyway.
Just a little. Just enough.
My tongue traces the pad of his thumb.
The sound he makes is low and involuntary, a shudder that goes through him like a shock. His hand tightens on my face for half a second before he catches himself. His eyes darken, breath hitching.
“Caroline,” he says, and my name has weight in it now. Warning and want tangled together.
I freeze, heart racing, embarrassment crashing back in. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, though the apology feels thin.
He doesn’t pull away immediately. His thumb brushes gently over my lip.
My body hums with need.
“We can’t do this,” he says quietly. “You’re not yourself right now.”
I nod, swallowing hard. He’s right. I know he’s right. It doesn’t make the ache ease.
I shift just a fraction, my body betraying every ounce of restraint I have left. His gray eyes drop, dragging down to my chest where my T-shirt clings like a second skin, soaked through with sweat. The thin fabric outlines every curve, my nipples hard and visible against the damp material.
Heat floods my face, but it’s nothing compared to the fire building lower. My pussy throbs, slick and aching, my clit swollen from all the times I’ve pressed against it in secret, chasing relief that never quite comes.
