Page 142 of Knot Their Starlet

Where am I supposed to put my hands? It’s not like I have any pockets to nervously shove them in.

“Leo gave it to me, he thought⁠—”

“I like it.”

Those three words hang between us like a confession.

He likes the sight of me in nothing other than his shirt.

Great.

Good information.

I mean, I like wearing his shirt. I catch ambient whiffs of his blood orange scent every time I move. It’s soothing.

“I like it too.” God, could I be any more awkward?

“Oh? Do you now?” He takes a step closer to me, so the only thing between us is the island countertop.

“’Course I do, I mean, I don’t think it’s that crazy that I like the idea that I’m this tiny dainty fairy,” I say, holding up the hem of his t-shirt like it isn’t obvious that it’s absolutely massive on me. “You’re like... massive.”

His expression shifts from neutral and observant to a smug sort of satisfaction instantly.

My awkward commentary on his physique seems to be all the encouragement he needs, because he’s stalking his way around the kitchen island until he’s towering in front of me.

“You are,” he growls.

“I’m what?”

“Tiny.”

My brows draw down automatically as my mom’s words fill my mind in a drive-by confidence execution.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that⁠—”

My words die on my tongue when he leans down and grips my thighs, effortlessly lifting me up.

“What the hell!” I squeak out, throwing my arms around his neck to hold my balance.

“Tiny, see?” He makes a show of holding me up with one hand gripping my lower thighs.

A hand that’s awful close to my ass. And to my pussy.

Fuck.

Wow.

Okay, who knew I was so into being manhandled?

My chamomile perfume explodes out of me, rich and thick with the sweet undertone of honey.

He lets out a satisfied growl, his lips quirking into the most obnoxious, smug expression in the world.

“Shut up,” I say, pressing a hand into his face.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he huffs, rolling his eyes.

“You didn’t need to. You were thinking it.”