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He requires a verbal response to his question though, and I don’t want this to end. I feel like I would literally die if he were to drop his hand away and tell me that’s all for tonight. I need to at least tell him, or somehow show him, that I crave for this to go further, that I want more than anything in this entire universe for him to take control as I give him my submission. And I know that won’t happen unless I give him clear, undeniable consent.
I nod quick and shallow several times, whispering, “Yes, Sir.”
And then I’m melting, because the moment I get those two words out, his big, warm hand cups my jaw as he practically purrs, “That’s a good girl.”
He lifts my face, my eyes closing, but not out of my fear of meeting his, but because they roll back in my head at how much pleasure the small touch causes. One of his fingertips sits right beneath my ear, sending tingles all the way down my neck, while his thumb rests on the other side of my chin, stroking my jawline with the gentlest caress. Without meaning to, I sink into it, pressing myself into his hand, feeling him spread his fingers wider and brace his wrist to support the weight I give him.
With my head tilted to the side and resting in that big palm, the other side of my neck is fully exposed, and a delighted breath leaves me in a moan when I feel his other hand start to trail up and down the sensitive line between my ear and the top of my shoulder on that side. My eyes open then, wide with embarrassment that such a simple touch could pull the erotic noise from my throat. And that’s when I see he’s no longer wearing his shades, his face so very close to my own as he cups my neck with both of his hands.
My lips are parted, my breaths coming out in shallow puffs, and my gaze flickers up and down then back again between his light eyes and his full lips framed in that delicious gray and white facial hair.
I still can’t tell what color those irises are, because the truck’s interior is an oceanscape surrounding us in blue, but in this moment, I couldn’t care less about that. The only thing I desire in this entire world is for him to press those perfect lips to mine so I can finally feel what I’ve been fantasizing about for ages.
Chapter Seven
FELIX
God, what I would do to this woman if we were more established in this thing between us. She’s so easy to read, and it’s not just because she speaks tons of her thoughts out loud without meaning to. Just like all those times I stood outside the dumpster, listening to her musings and grumbles as she hunted for her treasures.
Even if she didn’t talk to herself.
Even if she didn’t send excerpts from her books that were literal guides she’s written on how she wants to be treated and what she desires.
Even if she didn’t answer my every question in our messages with a thoroughness that would make the great philosophers proud.
Even if she didn’t do all of that, I would still be able to decode every animated expression, change in breathing, and instinctive, involuntary reaction she has as if she’s got an instruction manual tattooed on her impossibly soft skin.
Her body is screaming at me to take her in every way imaginable. She’s open and willing to allow me to do absolutely anything I want, to use her in any way that would please me. She wants me so badly, craves me in a way that makes me feel more desired than I’ve ever felt before. Which is saying something, because I’ve never had any issue in the female department.
Not being conceited, just a fact.
I have symmetrical facial features.
I take care of my body and have defined muscle tone.
I’m a nonsmoker.
I’m a few inches taller than the average American male.
I have incredible hygiene, and not just because I’m a doctor.
The whites of my eyes are bright and clear.
And the list goes on.
Everything a woman sees when she first glances at me screams “strong, healthy, virile male.” And that’s usually all it takes to have at least one female aroused by me at any given time. It’s just human nature.
What’s not human nature is this woman clearly fighting her every instinct telling her to run—from what could easily be a very dangerous situation if she were in it with anyone other than me. She may think she’s being a nervous wreck right now, embarrassed that she’s panicky and skittish instead of whatever sensual vixen she thinks she should be behaving like, but she’s wrong. Oh-so fucking wrong. This seemingly vulnerable and fragile girl riddled with anxiety disorders and scars from being burned by people in the past is showing so much bravery and strength right now it’s intoxicating.
