“Do you have a headache?”
I’m all lightheaded, but I doubt it’s from the smoke. It feels more euphoric than painful.
“You’re not coughing,” he says. “That’s good.”
He takes his hands off me and reaches into the large First Aid Kit by his side. I squeeze my hands tighter in my apron to keep myself from reaching for him like a moth toward a flame.
This man… The way he is. The calmness emanating from him. The gentleness from such a big strong man… It’s so sexy. It’s such a turn on.
My studio is a smoking ruin and all I’m thinking about is how it would feel if he kissed me.
“This is a called a pulse ox,” he says as he gently takes my hand and puts a clip on the end of my finger. “It’s going to measure your oxygen saturation and your heart rate.”
Uh oh. I’m about to be busted. My heart is racing because of this man.
“Your oxygen levels are good,” he says as he reads the screen. “But your heart rate is elevated.”
“Oh,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I can’t imagine why.”
“You’re probably just stressed,” he says as he unclips it from my finger.
“Yeah…” I say, nodding a little too aggressively. “Stress. That’s it. For sure.”
He takes my hands in his and kneels in front of me, our faces lining up. My mouth waters.
“I want you to breathe with me,” he whispers. “Can you do that?”
I nod with a gulp.
His smoldering blue eyes are locked on mine as he inhales deep, that huge muscular chest expanding and pulling that navy blue T-shirt even tighter.
Holy moly. I almost forget how to breathe.
But I manage to inhale deep, following him, maybe puffing out my chest a little more than necessary, even though this big thick apron is covering the goods.
“And out,” he whispers, exhaling long and hard.
We’re staring right at each other as we do this over and over and it feels even more intimate. His strong hands holding mine, the small cramped space, the air all tingly like it’s buzzing with electricity.
My heart is still pounding. Every nerve ending in my body is on full alert, tingling and vibrating like a struck tuning fork.
I don’t think this man is capable of lowering my heart rate.
Well, maybe he could. But he’d have to give me half a dozen orgasms first.
“Keep breathing like that,” he whispers as he leans in.
He puts his ear close to my mouth as I slowly breathe in and out, wondering if my breath is tickling his skin. I wonder what he would do if I lean in and kiss that muscular neck.
I look away, because he’s so distracting and he keeps filling my head with dirty thoughts, but my eyes fall onto his hands and that’s even worse.
They’re holding me so gently, but I can feel the strength of them. The power in them. They’re beautiful hands. Capable hands. The kind of hands that could hold you down with ease and still be careful about it. The kind that can dominate you and make you feel protected in the same time.
I don’t know how many hours I’ve stared at these hands. That photo in the calendar. The almost magical hands holding that little seedling like it was so precious, now holding my hands in the same way. It’s unreal.
My hungry eyes move over to his lap and my breath hitches for a heartbeat when I remember how good that hard thick clay felt in my hands. I bet the real thing would feel even better.
“Good,” he whispers, leaning back. “I don’t hear any wheezing or see any difficulty breathing.”
