The corner of my mouth lifts. “It’s a guilty pleasure. It doesn’t have to make sense. Now shush.”
He relaxes, and I forget he’s even in the room. I grimace as a werewolf makes a fatal mistake. I scoot to the edge of the sofa, my eyes wide and heart pounding as I race to make it out alive.
“I want my truth now,” Fox says from next to me. His voice is deeper than normal, making my eyes dart to him.
“Can it wait until after the game?”
“No, because it’s in relation to the game.” That doesn’t seem too bad. I’ve been expecting some horrific demand for truth. I refocus on the TV just as I make a break for it out of the basement. I’m probably running straight into a trap. Ugh, I’m right.
“Are you turned on right now?” Fox asks.
My breathing stutters as I swing my wide gaze to his. “What kind of question is that?” I snap.
“Tell the truth, Cleo.”
“No, of course not. Gore and murder doesn’t get me off.”
He leans forward and places his chin in his hands as a small smirk pulls at his lips. “It’s not the gore and murder, it’s the fear—albeit in a safe space, one which you control. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not turned on or ashamed,” I mutter, tearing my eyes from his as I swallow.
“We agreed—no lies.”
I battle with a knife-wielding ghost in the kitchen. “Not lying.”
“Don’t make me prove otherwise.”
I arch a brow. “Be my guest—I’m happy to prove you wrong. But you won’t get another truth from me today.”
He slides off the sofa, shoves the coffee table out of the way, andpositions himself on his knees at my feet. His gaze trails over my face, down my chest, and along my bare legs.
“Exhibit A: Your thighs are pressed tightly together.”
“I need to pee.”
His lips twitch. “B: You are rubbing them together to try to alleviate the pressure of the blood rushing to your clit.”
My eyes go wide. “You have a filthy mouth.”
“You have no idea. Exhibit C: Your pulse is hammering in your neck like a hummingbird.”
“Because you are too close.” Why is my voice breathy?
“Exhibit D: Your cheeks are flushed, a result of the other things in your body. No matter what you say, Cleo, you are turned on.”
“Fear does the exact same thing.”
He tilts his head. “And your nipples are hard.”
My head drops to my chest, and sure enough, the hard points can be clearly seen through the thin material of my T-shirt. I one hundred percent need to always wear a padded bra around this man.
“It’s cold.”
He inches closer, placing his hands on either side of my hips and leans over me. “Your pupils are dilated.”
“It’s dark,” I whisper as I drop the controller on the sofa.
“Keep lying to me, and I will strip you out of these tiny shorts, where I’ll discover the telling wetness between your legs. What possible excuse will you think of then?”
