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I reach up and make the exact face she showed me that she makes, and it does the trick. She erupts into a fit of giggles before reaching for her loser shot.
“Oh, you are good,” she says and then takes it. Her nose scrunches up adorably at the after burn, and she gives a full body shudder. “What’s your question?”
“What’s your biggest fear in life?”
She presses her lips together and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath in and letting it out before she answers, “Not finding love.”
“That is your biggest fear?” I say, unable to keep the incredulous sound from my voice.
Wrong move, asshole.
It raises her hackles, the red in her cheeks getting deeper as she rises up a little more on her knees.
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. I was expecting spiders or sharks or sinkholes.”
“I just want what my parents had. I want someone who knows me. Really knows me. Who wants to explore life with me. I want the good and the bad. I want them to lean on me and for me to know that no matter what problems we face, we can get through them together. I want true, incomparable, out-of-this-world love.” Her hands grip her thighs as she bounces a little while she talks. The urgency in her tone has me equal parts thrilled and scared.
I knew she wasn’t playing around, and for the first time since this dumb show started, I feel guilty for taking a possible love connection away from her. Instead, I’m the asshole who asked her to work for me.
But we aren’t really acting like employer and employee right now, are we?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She shakes her head. “For what?”
“For insinuating that it was a dumb fear. It’s not.”
“Oh, thank you.” She goes quiet after that, avoiding my gaze.
I’m afraid I’ve made her uncomfortable, and I shift, suddenly feeling the need to apologize for everything. For how I treated her at the first day of filming, not taking into account her feelings and instead thinking I could get away with asking her to become my employee.
What the hell was I thinking?
I open my mouth to say it, but she cuts me off, looping one leg over mine and straddling my lap. Her hands push into my hair as she lowers her mouth to trail kisses down my neck.
“Hey,” I whisper, running my hands up her arms and pushing back slightly.
She leans back to look at me. “What?”
I stare at her, and she nervously bites her bottom lip.
“You don’t want to?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “No, I very much want to.” Against my better judgment. “But not if you are drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” she says. “I’ve only had one shot.”
I lick my lips, watching her carefully.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling at me.
My inner caveman takes over. I’ve spent these last two weeks just wanting to touch her, and here she is, on top of me, and I can’t hold back any longer. This time, I push my hands into her hair, the long curls tangling around my fingers. The strands are thick and warm against her scalp as I pull and tilt her head back, so I can nip her neck. She moans, and I do it again, wanting to hear more of that deep, throaty sound.
Her hands grasp my shoulders and then my neck, holding my head against her as she grinds down on my lap. My hips rise up to meet her, my cock already hard.
