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“Thanks, Blake.” Alex nods at him.
“You need any help?” Blake asks.
“No, I’m good.”
After giving me a quick pat on the shoulder, Blake turns and walks away, leaving us alone.
He remains silent at first, the blaze in his eyes scalding me. I clamp down on the urge to run away. Instead, I stare down at the floor, the very image of docility. Even for a dick like Alex, I like to keep my mask on.
“I need your help, Brit.”
His calm, even tone surprises me. For the first time, there’s no trace of arrogance in his expression.
He’s dead serious.
I don’t respond. Growing up with my father, I have gotten used to staying silent. But I also know that it will make it easier for Alex to tell me what he wants.
But instead of continuing, he approaches in a few powerful strides. And before I’m able to form a coherent thought, he pulls me flush against him. He’s still wearing his hockey gear, and so, our bodies do not meld with each other perfectly, but his arm embraces me, his fingers splayed on my lower back.
My pulse flies into a sprint, my knees trembling. It’s been a while since a man held me like this.
“I need you.”
Even though I know he’s not talking about sex, my femininity is clenching, beating like a heart. His touch, while a little inappropriate, is not completely sensual. I mean, Blake has held me like this more than a few times when we were dancing.
He’s not saying that he needs me physically.
And yet, my brain interprets his words to mean just that. My heart is slamming even faster, my breath raspy.
I really need to get laid. My reaction to him is a clear indicator of what happens when you go without a man for too long.
He bends his head over mine, and without thinking, I angle my face to his. He moves closer, his lips a mere inch from mine.
Is he going to kiss me?
“And I need you to say yes.”
Yes, I think automatically. I have no idea what I’m thinking yes to, but I’ll say it to anything he offers.
“Okay?” he breathes, moving even closer. If I shift my head an inch to the right, our lips will touch.
It seems I’ve forgotten to put a verb and a noun together. All I’m thinking about is how I want to feel his body on me. In me.
Instinctively, I grind my hips against him. His cup presses my right thigh, a hint of what’s underneath.
A burst of warm liquid spills out between my legs, and I barely bite back a groan.
He doesn’t seem to have the same restraint.
“Damn it, Britney,” he growls. “Do you like knowing my dick is hard for you?” His fingers dip lower, moving below my back, grazing my ass.
Hell, yes.
He’ll pull up my long, overflowing skirt, yank away my thong, and he’ll just drive into the slickness between . . .
Any minute, someone could walk in on us.
Think of anything else, Brit, my mind screams at me. I shut my eyes, trying to produce an unsexy image that will drown my sexual appetite.
