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“No,” he says, and grabs my hands, stopping me.
Stanley holds my hands, and I frown, confused.
“Why?” I ask, and that’s when I realize how raspy my voice is.
I’m agitated; my breathing is erratic.
“We need to stop.”
“What?” I’m not sure that I heard him right.
Stanley gulps, looking like he hates himself for saying that. Why did he say it then?
“I want this, Bree. I truly do, but we’re not doing it today,” he tells me and kisses my shoulder, letting go of my hands.
I’m confused, turned on, and frustrated. It feels like I got hit by a brick. I don’t want to pressure him, but he admitted that he wants this too. Why would he stop this? I want to know his reasons.
“Why? I’m more than willing,” I complain, my sexual frustration governing my body.
He lets out a long and excruciating sigh.
“Because you had one hell of a night.”
“And this could make it better,” I comment, rolling my eyes.
He shakes his head.
“Maybe. Or you could be consenting this because you’re emotionally overwhelmed,” he states.
Who the hell raised him?I let out a groan because it’s unbelievable. His golden personality is showing in the most inappropriate moment. When is he going to stop being a gentleman? Because now would be a great time to leave behind his shining armor and give in to what our bodies want.
“Seriously?” Stan nods, and I can’t hold back the whimper that abandons me. “What kind of unbreakable control do you have?”
Stanley chuckles.
“A moralist one, apparently,” he replies, and I don’t know if it’s a joke or not.
I scoff, abandoning his lap to settle on my side of the bed. I understand his point, I do. He wants to be sure that I’m not doing this to relieve the emotional distress of being mugged, but I treat both incidents as separate ones. Yes, I had a horrible night with an event that scared me to death. The memory makes my hands shake. However, it’s not the reason why I kissed him. It was the last push that I needed to accept the truth.
“Don’t get mad,” he pleads.
His begging tone makes my irritation decrease quickly. It’s not like I can be mad at him for taking care of me and respecting me. Stan genuinely cares about me and is concerned about my safety.
“I’m not mad,” I tell him in a softer tone. “I’m frustrated.”
Stanley gifts me one of his smiles.
“Why so frustrated?” His voice is deep and hoarse, causing me to shiver. I have to clench my legs together because the vibrations travel directly to my sex.
“Stan, if we’re not going to do this, then don’t make those questions.”
The bastard laughs about my situation.
I’m suffering from a severe case of blue vagina. The only thing that relieves me is that he’s going through the same thing.
“I’m sorry,” he says, but his eyes say otherwise. “I’m frustrated too.”
“May I remind you who stopped this?” I question, arching an eyebrow.
