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If he moved his hand a little higher, he would touch my . . .
“Socks.”
“Socks?” he says.
My cheeks burn.
I said that out loud.
“Nothing.”
He sends me a weird look, adjusting me against him to open the door to his office.
He places me on the couch, and I’m left alone with my thoughts and a pounding heart. When he’s near, I’m overwhelmed with want and desire I’ve never felt for another man before. I take a deep inhale, hoping to regulate my pulse that is still skittering erratically.
When he reenters the small office, he feels too big for the space.
My face isn’t the only thing hot. The skin on my neck, down to my chest, and across my collarbones starts to heat as he moves closer and closer to me. When he drops to the floor in front of me, I think I might pass out.
The man has seen me naked, and I’ve seen him naked, but nothing feels as intimate as this.
“Give me your leg.” He huffs.
I look down at him and pucker my lips. “It’s fine. I’m a grown woman. I can do it myself.”
I have no desire for a showdown right now. I am hurt and not in the mood.
“Give me your leg.” His voice is rough around the edges. Leaving no room for disagreement.
I’m afraid if I don’t, he will do something rash. Reluctantly, I move back on the couch, and my knee is now directly in line with where he is crouched in front of me. I can see his eyes are staring down at my bruised and bleeding leg.
I’m not sure what is wrong with me, but the sight makes me feel tingly all over.
Like I have pins and needles across my body.
My heart hammers in my chest as his hand reaches out. Even though I am watching him, I’m not prepared for my reaction when his palm wraps around my calf muscle to steady my leg so he can clean it.
The second his skin touches mine, I think I might faint.
It’s not that this is the first time he has touched me.
Most of the time, it’s by accident, but there is something about this position.
Him kneeling in worship before me.
His head angled toward my thigh.
His fingers on my skin.
My heart feels like a pinball. Or at least, like it will certainly combust from all the pent-up pressure building inside me.
As he wipes me with a wet rag. It feels like my skin is on fire. It ignites under his ministrations. Not even the cold compress can cool me.
His gaze is intense as he mends my wounds. It roams lazily over my leg, following the path of his hand as he works up to my knee.
With each caress, the fire grows inside me. It’s a blazing heat I can’t comprehend, and at this moment, I don’t want to.
Instead, I just watch him.
