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Just to give him access to my thighs.
Nowhere else, obviously.
His breath is slower, but heavy now, his hands methodical, squeezing higher and higher, reaching toward my hips.
Holy shit, is he going to—
I squirm against a wet heat between my legs, my core pulsing.
Don’t judge.
There’s no straight woman on Earth who could experience this andnotbe ready to hurl herself at this man.
Especially after that kiss, all soul and instant addiction.
It may have lasted a few seconds—barely a moment—but it branded me from the inside out.
That’s never happened.
One tiny brush of lips basically reached my clit.
And he still hasn’t uttered one word.
I can’t tell if he’s just ignoring the fact that it ever happened—but then why is he still touching me?—or whether he just doesn’t know how to touch the subject.
“O-okay,” I stammer when his thumb drops across my inner thigh.
He’s still working muscle groups I didn’t know I had, but if he doesn’t stop, he’ll push me to an orgasm for the ages.
I stare at his face, willing him to look up.
He doesn’t even meet my eyes.
Cryptic, magnificent bastard.
Irritation floods my blood, dampening some of my arousal. “Shepherd? Did you—”
“Don’t say it,” he snarls.
One hand moves off my thigh, moving to my lips.
He pushes a finger over them with a cutting glare.
“Don’t talk, Destiny. Nothing you can say right now will do a damned bit of good.”
Eek.
I clamp my jaw shut, confusion colliding with frustration.
So, what then?
He really doesn’t want to discuss it? Or even acknowledge what happened?
What’sstillhappening?
I’m so lost.
I squirm again, trying to find a position where I can’t notice how wet I am.
