My breath hitches anyway.
“Are you sure?” I ask, peering closer.
Discomfort lines the edges of his face, and he sweeps his large hands over his legs as if trying to psych himself up.
“Just do it, temptress.”
Something about his no-nonsense tone has me scrambling, losing my tenuous grasp on control of the situation. For a moment, as I’m shimmying over the console, I wonder if it’s possible he’s tricked me into thinking he doesn’t do this kind of thing.
It wouldn’t be the first time a man lied to get me into a vulnerable position, but I’d thought I’d gotten better at detecting their bullshit.
My throat burns as I crawl into his lap. I half expect him to paw at me the moment I’m in his vicinity, but instead he keeps his hands dutifully low, watching every move I make with the eyes of a hawk.
I brace myself on the headrest and plant my knees at his hips. Though he doesn’t touch me, there’s a heat blazing in his gaze, caught in the moonlight spilling in through the sunroof.
“Temptress?” I probe in a low voice. He called me that earlier too. At the gas station.
“Siren, vixen, dragueuse. Whichever label you prefer.”
“Dragueuse?”
“It’s French.”
“What does it mean?”
His breath skates across my collarbone. “Flirt.”
My pulse scatters. “I see. So you were lying when you said you weren’t familiar with the gesture.”
“No. I meant what I said. Flirting is not my forte.” Shifting, he rests his head against the seat, letting his eyes dip to my lips briefly.
“Then I just bring it out in you?”
“If this conversation qualifies, I suppose so.”
This feels so different from every other hookup I’ve had. No matter what gender, a quick fuck is usually just that—quick. Fleeting. Over once you’ve climaxed—or, in a lot of cases with my masculine partners,pretendedto—and moved on to the next thing.
In LA,everyonein my adult community theater troupe was fucking. It was like its own little commune, the place where jealousy, lust, and moral support thrived.
But it was easy enough not to get attached, especially when I ventured outside the group.
Maybe this just feels different because it’s the first time I’ve sought any external gratification since my dreams went up in flames.
Or maybe it’s the soft glint in those mossy eyes that warms me from the inside out.
“So…” He fills the silence, drawing me back in. “Where are you from?”
My shoulders slump. “And you ruined it.”
“What?” He frowns. “Did you not just tell me to get to know my lead?”
“I meant like”—I grab one of his hands, placing it high on my thigh where my dress has ridden up—“this.”
His swallow reverberates in my stomach, and his touch is ice cold. “Ah.”
“Well?”
“Well…what?”
