His whispers raised my skin. Fine bumps pained me from my neck to my ankles.
As his statement drew to a close, so did our connection. He loosened his hold on me, handing me to the crisp air that was once warm.
Once.
Twice.
A third and fourth time…
My lashes batted. My neck drew back slightly. The corners of my eyes tightened. He’d thrown off my entire nervous system. I didn’t know what to say… what to do… what to feel. So, I followed up with what felt most accurate.
Simple.
Vivid.
Free of confusion.
“Good evening, Mr. Grayson.”
Ishmael’s right hand disappeared into the jacket of his suit as his radiating smile proved to be a hoax.
“That’s not my fucking name.” He chuckled.
A walking contradiction.
“Don’t let me tell you that again,Royce.”
Warmth rode my spine to the tippy top. My nipples hardened. The rings that pierced them caused a pain that rested in my pussy.
She’s alive.
“Ishmael. Ish. Take your pick, but Mr. Grayson ain’t it. Sit down.”
I hadn’t noticed the chair he’d pulled out. Neither could I comprehend how he’d disappeared from my line of vision. Or how his breath grazed the back of my neck.
Maintaining a smidget of self-control, I remained standing.
“I can pull out my own chair, Mr–”
“Ishmael.”
I clipped my statement to allow him to speak. A smirk turned my lips upward as I shook my head.
“Go ahead. Sound it out. You’re a smart woman.”
I turned to face the eligible bachelor that was too close for comfort, yet right where he needed to be, simultaneously.
“If you’d have a seat, we could get down to business.”
“I’m not sitting down until you’re seated, Royce. Don’t make this difficult.”
“I’m not easy,” I blurted.
Regret sealed my lids. My nostrils flared. My chest rose.
“Neither are you cheap.”
I took my seat. Words failed me. It didn’t matter how extensive my vocabulary was. Ishmael adjusted it before settling in his.
