I can see them through his t-shirt, the ridges of his ribs and the hills of his chest and the cut planes of his stomach, and I squirm on his lap.
Wait a second. I’m on his lap.
How did I not notice this before?
My spread thighs, even though covered by my wet dress, rub against his damp jeans and oh my God, it’s glorious, the rough fabric and my smooth skin. And so I squirm again but before I can do it one more time, he stops me.
Hephysicallystops me by putting pressure on my waist and pinning me in one spot, commanding, “Hold on to your dress.”
I frown. “What?”
He glances down at the hem of my dress. “Your dress. Hold on to it.”
I pull at his t-shirt. “Why?”
“Just do it. Now,” he says with clenched teeth, his body pulsing with his words.
I immediately let go of his t-shirt and grab the hem of my dress. He doesn’t like how I’ve done it though, so he lets go of my waist and positions my hands.
He carefully puts my hand —bothhands — in between my legs and makes me fist the fabric. And he makes me do it so tightly that my knuckles jut out with the force.
When he’s done, he looks up. “Don’t let me push it up your thighs.”
My heart is banging against my chest. “Why not?”
He licks his lips, his hand flexing over mine. “Because I want to.”
“But I –”
“Because I want to push your dress up and look at your panties. Because I know you’re creaming them right now and I want to see. I want to look at that wet spot and picture you creaming every night for me, up in your bedroom. And if I do that, if I imagine you, then I’m going to lose whatever sanity I have left. You got that? So you’re going to protect her.”
“Roman –”
He lets go of my hands and buries his fingers in my wet hair.
He presses his forehead over mine as he says in a guttural voice, “No, listen to me, you’re going to protect her. Fromme. You’re going to hold onto your dress and you’re going to guard your pussy. You’re not going to let me push your dress up nomatter what I do, what I say. You’re not going to let me see her. Tell me you understand.”
“But –”
“Tell me you understand, Fae.”
It’s the Fae that does it.
It’s the way he says it like a plea.
Like he’s the one who’s begging now.
He’s the one who’s good and I’m the one who’s bad and tormenting him. And I nevereverwant to do that. I’ve pushed him enough tonight, so I look into his animal eyes that look almost anguished. “If I say yes, will you kiss me then?”
His jaw clenches and he tugs on my hair. “Fuck yes.”
I smile slightly and fist my dress even more tightly. “Okay. I’ll hold on to my dress. I won’t let you push it up. I won’t let you see her. No matter what you say.”
A relieved sigh escapes him then. As big a sigh as the wind around us.
And then he kisses me as he promised.
Chapter Nine
