‘Do you need a hand with that?’
In a moment of madness, I decide making an arse of myself by being ridiculous is better than doing so through stupid presumptions or tears.
‘I’m sorry, a hand?’ I ask blithely. ‘Were you offering me a hand with my drink or my orgasm?
‘Aye, well,’ he begins, fighting a very dorky looking grimace. ‘I think we can safely say you don’t need a handthere.’ His grimace doesn’t last very long, not as his gaze drops from my face to my lacy bra and a little farther. His tongue darts out to wet his full bottom lip. It’s such an unconscious motion but a telling one.He’s thinking about how I touched myself.A subtle thrill courses through my veins.
‘No, you’re right. No hands needed with the solo side of things, not when I have two of my own. Well, one. The other is out of commission,’ I add, wiggling the fingers of my right hand almost under his nose, spirit-fingers style. ‘But really, it doesn’t taketwohands. Just a couple of fingers will do most times.’
‘Really?’ Something suddenly moves across his gaze, something a little thrilling and a little real. ‘Just a couple of fingers? That’s all it takes?’
As he takes a step towards me, I take one back, exhaling a breathless sound. A light, quivering thing that’s the exact opposite of the reactions building inside me.
I feel stalked. Vulnerable.Wet.
‘Sometimes.’ I don’t sound so confident now. In fact, my voice sounds thick. Thick with longing and lust.
‘Only sometimes?’ His voice is a sandpapery lick right between my legs. I find myself backed up against door of the fridge, his gaze raining lust down me. ‘If one hand is out of action, the favoured hand, would you be forced to seek help?’
‘Why, Greg, are you offering?’
‘Darlin’.’ His voice tone is gravelly as his hands slip from my face to my shoulders, and from my shoulders to my hips. ‘Let me take you to bed.’
