"But you do feel something for me?" Asif to test his own theory, he reaches out and cups the side of my face, caressing my cheek with his thumb.
I melt into it for a moment before I remember I'm mad at him.
"Sure. Disgust."
He laughs. "Try again."
"Lust."
"Now you're just rhyming."
He grips my chin and leans in close.
"Trust." The word came out of my mouth without thinking.
And that word seems to stop him in his tracks. "You trust me?"
"I let you drag me in here and tie me up. Of course I trust you."
"You let plenty of people tie you up." He inches closer. "But you never let anyone hang you from their ceiling. And you don't let everyone kiss you."
My head is screaming at me to pull back, but I can't. I want him so badly. He leans in and presses his lips to mine. An act that I denied him for several weeks because of some stupid rule I made up in my head. In this moment, I can't remember what that rule was or the logic behind it.
The sweet taste of his lips is something I've been trying not to think about for the past couple of months. As well as the feel of his skin on mine. A moan escapes my lips again, and I realize that he's touching me with more than just his lips. One of his hands is cupping my breast through his thin shirt I'm wearing. His fingers pluck at my nipple, sending a chill across my chest.
"That was for answering my question honestly," he whispers against my lips.
I groan in frustration at the absence of his hand betweenmy thighs. The way the corners of his lips turn up makes me want to kiss him again and smack that smug look off his face all at the same time.
"Ready for the next question?"
"Do I have a choice?" I tug at my wrists and flash him my palms as best as I'm able.
When he leans in, my mouth starts to water. "You always have a choice, Blake. You know that."
I do. But I don't give him the satisfaction of getting a response out of me.
"What are you so afraid of?"
"You already asked me that."
The bed creaks as he shifts his weight back onto it, resting one of his feet on the rungs at the bottom of my chair. "No, I asked why you're not letting yourself feel something for me."
"Isn't that the same question?"
"Only if you're admitting that it's because you're afraid."
"Semantics."
"Precisely. So what are you so afraid of, Blake? Are you afraid I'll get bored with you and leave you high and dry?"
"No."
"Lie."
Okay, now I'm mad. "It's not a lie! I think you're too obsessed with me to leave."
I was expecting a sarcastic retort, not the laughter that comes from him. His head shakes, and he rubs his hand across the back of his neck. The way the muscles in his arms flex as he does it grabs my attention, making me bite my lower lip.
