“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. As you said, I’m tired, and I want to go home.”
His eyes bounce between mine, searching for the lie I haven’t told. Okay, so I might be withholding some of the truth, but what I have said is true.
“You’ll let me take you home?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
All the air rushes from my lungs at his praise.
The smug fucker knows it, too, if the smirk that spreads across his lips tells me anything.
He leans a little closer, forcing me to tip my head back to keep eye contact with him. Heat burns through his thin T-shirt and rushes down my front, making my temperature soar instantly.
My breath catches as I wait for what he’s going to do next.
But…but he doesn’t do anything next.
Well, he does. He opens his freaking passenger door.
I curse myself for letting my hormones get the better of me.
What was I even thinking? This man doesn’t want to kiss me. He’s already had his taste. He’s only hanging around because I’m growing his child.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yep, everything is perfect,” I state before turning and attempting to climb into his truck.
His deep chuckle vibrates through the air as he watches for a few seconds.
“Whoa,” I cry when I wobble on the step. “What are you doing?” I bark when his hands land on my ass.
“Stopping you from falling,” he points out as he gets me into the cab.
“With my ass.”
“It’s a nice ass, sweetheart. I don’t think I appreciated it enough before.”
My chin drops but no words come out.
“You good?” he asks before taking a step back.
I nod, and he closes me inside his car, leaving me to watch as he jogs around the hood.
The air in here smells exactly like the man who owns it, and without meaning to, my mind flies right back to that night when his scent was in my nose, and his hands were on my body.
The second he opens the door and climbs in, that scent gets stronger, and my need grows.
Damn it.
I was doing just fine without a man in my life. My vibrator and I had a good thing going. Then in walks Everett Donnelly and points out that no matter how good a vibrating friend might be, they don’t quite hit the same spot as a perfectly crafted dick.
He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine and wraps one large hand around the wheel, leaving me with no choice but to trace the veins and ink that run up his forearm as he pulls out of the space.
When I finally make it to his face, the asshole is smirking.
