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“Do you have a foot fetish?” I ask him, fighting the accompanying thoughts.
This is going to happen.
“It's an excuse to touch you.” He looks up.
“Feet are horrible.”
“Not yours, yours are like you—small and cu–”
“Pay attention to the fact my foot is in your lap before you finish that sentence, Bryn,” I interrupt.
“Good point.”
Bryn's fingers head up to my ankle and his fingers trace my calf.
“That's not my foot.”
“I know.” He shifts his hand higher, beneath the cotton dress falling across my knees until he lightly strokes my inner thigh, watching for my reaction.
Holy crap.
“Bryn!”
Smirking, he shifts closer. “Want to come to my room for a sleepover?” As he talks, Bryn circles my skin with his thumb and I'm filled with a mix of panic and arousal. He can't touch me there. Not here.
“You're very forward,” I say and grab his hand, pushing it down my leg.
“Forward? I've known you months!” He pushes my hand away and continues his explorations.
“Not here! Stop it!”
Every touch, every look, every kiss this evening has wiped away the last two months and brought us back to the point in January when we had the choice to stop or keep going. This time Bryn opened up and told me what I needed to hear. I suspect ‘love’ isn’t a throwaway word for this man. Bryn holds his face teasingly close while I attempt and fail to control my breathing. I swallow and close my eyes, anticipating his lips on mine again.
With his hand remaining on my thigh, Bryn’s lips surprise me, moving softly against mine, as he waits for my reaction. He stops and I shift closer and curl my hand around his neck, relishing the taste of the man who’s danced back into my fantasies. There’s something in a kiss that holds as much intimacy as the rawness of sex, and with the kiss, we exchange a long-awaited desire that will be realised tonight.
“Sleepover?” His eyes glint in the light from the lamp on the table. The innocence of the term contrasted with his not innocent intentions triggers the wet heat between the thighs he's exploring.
“Are you inviting me back to your room?” I ask.
Bryn's hand hovers centimetres from my dampening panties and he kisses below my ear. “No, I'm taking you to bed.”
“How do you know I want to?” I ask.
“Cariad, if I move my fingers any higher, I'll get the answer, won't I?” he whispers against my cheek.
I squirm away from his hand and Bryn finally moves it south, tracking his rough fingers along my skin as he does. “Bryn Hughes, you're a bad man,” I say breathlessly.
“Maybe, but I'm also very good.” Bryn stands and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. “I can show you how good.”
As I stumble into him, he pulls me close and I'm shocked by his arousal pushing against my stomach.
“Just one thing,” he says, “I won't be involved in your kinky fantasies.”
“What?”
“The night I met you, you said something about wanting a man who ties you up?” He arches a brow.
“Jesus, Bryn. You know I didn't mean that!” He bites his lip and I smack him in the chest. “Stop teasing.”
“Oh, you think this is teasing? Just you wait.”
