“That would be great,” she says, her mouth quirking up at one corner. “You’re, um. A veryalphakind of cook.”
I tilt my head and stare at her, not understanding.
“I think you just hit the highest microwave setting possible and put whatever you’re cooking in there for ten minutes.”
Is she...teasingme?
The realization is so unexpected that a strangled growl escapes my ruined throat. Not quite a laugh. Not capable of a normal laughing sound. But it’s close enough.
W-H-A-T… W-A-N-T? I sign.
She thinks for a moment. "I would kill for some pho."
I nod. I know a place three blocks from here. Open late. Good food. Kind people who don't mind that I have to write my order on a napkin.
"Really?" Her smile is brighter now.
I nod again, suddenly aware of how long we've been sitting like this. Her, still perched on my lap. My arms still loosely circling her. Hers still wrapped around as much of me as possible. My body still memorizing the weight of her, the exact shape of how she fits against me.
Like I have the right to remember these things.
She seems to notice too. She shifts again, attempting to get off my lap. "Oh, I should let you?—"
Her feet tangle in the blanket, and she loses her balance. My hands shoot out to steady her, but too late.
She falls against me.
Her face comes level with mine, so close her breath fans across what little is exposed of my skin. Her nose brushes mine through the fabric of my mask.
If I wasn’t wearing a mask—no, if I were someone else entirely—our lips would be touching right now.
But that isn't possible.
Not only because she wouldn't want to, but because...
"Sorry." She gives a nervous laugh. A light, beautiful sound. She tries to right herself, but her knee slips between my thighs.
It presses against my cock.
Hard.
A jolt tears through me from where her knee connects with my hardened length, shooting straight up my spine. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I freeze again, my breath hitching in my scarred throat.
Her eyes widen.
But she doesn't immediately pull away.
She swallows hard, her gaze meeting mine briefly before darting away. Despite the suppressants, her scent shifts, subtle but unmistakable.
Honeysuckle intensifying. Sharpening.
She shifts slightly, not quite pulling away. Bites her lower lip, her expression a mixture of surprise and something unreadable. The slight movement drags her knee against me. An involuntary growl rumbles in my chest.
"I—" she begins, her voice soft but steady. "I should move..."
But she doesn't, not immediately. She's caught in the blanket, but there's a hesitation that has nothing to do with being tangled. Her gaze lifts to mine, holding it for a heartbeat longer than necessary before glancing away again.
My hands finally move. Not to pull her closer as every instinct demands, but to hover just above her hips. Not touching. Notclaiming. Just ready to steady her so she can pull away when she decides to.
