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His chest expands with his long breath. “Good.”
“What do you mean, a man like you?” I ask, my hands traveling up to his hair. I sink my fingers into the strands, feeling the rich softness.
Simon doesn’t answer me for a few heartbreaking seconds and I want to hug him so badly. Because I know something is bothering him but he won’t tell me what.
“A man prone to mistakes,” he says, at last, in a ragged whisper, his eyes on me. In fact, his eyes are roving all over my face. Back and forth. Up and down. Fast and slow. All at the same time.
It’s like he’ll never see me again, and it scares me.
“What kind of mistakes?” I ask, massaging his scalp, scraping my fingers through his hair.
He groans, his eyes almost dropping shut with pleasure.
Despite everything, I smile. I smile because I’m giving him pleasure. Me. Somehow, Weird Willow is making this man groan.
It makes me happy. It makes me horny, and I rock, rubbing my core against his torso.
His eyes open, shining and black, his hands going to my hair, his thumb grazing my jaw. He’s touching me on the face, but strangely, it resonates in my stomach, pooling and swirling like liquid lust.
“Do you know I watch you?”
“What?”
His nostrils flare. “Yeah. I watch you. In fact, I can’t stop watching you.”
“Y-you watch me?”
“Yes.” His reply is so guttural, so full of loathing that I don’t know what to think or do except tighten my thighs around him.
And blurt some words that I don’t think make much sense. “I didn’t… You…”
“You didn’t know, did you?”
I shake my head.
It makes him chuckle, my ignorance. But there’s hardly any humor in it.
“You love strawberries, but you hate blueberries,” he murmurs. “You always leave them out of your fruit salad. You always like to sit on the bench closest to the gate while feeding your pigeons, like you’re planning to make a run for it. You blow on your bangs when you’re nervous or agitated. You’ve started to laugh more ever since you talked in the group. And you know what else?”
I don’t think I can talk right now. I don’t know any words. I don’t know any sensations and emotions, except him. He’s all I know in this moment.
My ice king.
Good thing he doesn’t seem to need an answer because he goes on, his fingers flexing in my hair, as if his body is flooded with all the electric energy. “I fucking hated it when you laughed at him.”
“At who?”
“At the new guy. Tristan. You were playing cards and he was teaching you and I fucking hated it. If a nurse hadn’t called me away, I would’ve done something… regretful.”
I vaguely remember it, playing poker with Tristan and a few other people. Mostly I wanted to piss Renn off, because she starts blushing whenever he’s around and it’s fun to watch. But I didn’t… I didn’t know…
He was watching me.
Oh God, he’s been watching me all along.
My lips part as I stare at him with wide eyes. My skin flutters, raises itself in goose bumps. There’s a buzzing in my stomach, my pussy. My soul. It’s like every single molecule, every atom I’m made of is excited.
“Simon, I –”
“Stop looking at me like that,” he spits out, cutting me off.
“Like what?” I wiggle in his lap, his authoritative voice making me hotter and hornier.
His one hand goes to my waist to stop me from moving, plastering my spine to the wall. “Like I’m some kind of a hero. Like this is a fucking fairy tale.” Grabbing the back of my neck with his other hand, he pulls me closer, bringing me flush to his chest, almost flattening my breasts.
“I told you, Willow. I’m not supposed to think of you in any other terms but as my patient. Do you know how unethical this is? Me coming into your room in the middle of the night? Do you know what kind of men do things like this? Weak men. Men who fail. Men who can’t control themselves. You don’t want anything to do with men like that, Willow. You need to be smart. You need to stay away from men like me.”
I want to tell him that smartness, playing by the rules, being good… all of this is over-rated. And then I want to grab the back of his neck too and plaster my mouth over his because Jesus Christ.
He’s been watching me, and he wants me. But he hates that. His strange protective instincts are turning me on so much. And if it’s wrong, him watching me like a stalker or like I’m prey, then fuck it. I don’t care.
I love it.
I cup his hard jaw, feeling his rough stubble and hardly controlling myself from moaning out loud. “Simon, you don’t –”
