Drunk.
And now he was here, touching me, takingcareof me.
“I think about you too much,” I confessed. “You take up too much space in my head. It’s not fair.”
“Notfair?”
“I don’t take up space in your mind. You disappear for weeks?—”
“You think you’re not in my head?” He cut me off, words disappearing into a growl.
“Not likethis.When I’m at work, I think about you. When I’m at book club, I think about you. When I’m supposed to be finding a new guy”—his grip flexed on my thigh—“I think about you.This was my brain first.” I know I sounded petulant. Whiny. But I couldn’t help it.
I was coming undone.
“I think about you, Shay.” He laughed without humor, sounding pained. “You’reallI think about.”
My eyes narrowed, suspicious.
“Whenever you think about me, know I’ve already been thinking about you for hours. Any time of the fucking day.”
“Any time?” I asked, disbelief coloring the question. “What about nine a.m.?”
His gaze found mine. His thumb traced circles along my inner thigh. “Wondering if you’ve had your morning tea.”
“Twelve p.m.?”
“Wondering if you remembered to eat lunch.”
I found myself leaning forward with each question and answer, as if magnetized. His hand slid higher up my thigh as I did so.
“Five p.m.?” I tilted my chin in defiance.
“Wondering how your ass looks in the leggings you wear to work.”
My eyes popped, cheeks flushing. “Five forty-five p.m.”
“Making dinner, thinking about you.” I leaned closer, and his hand moved higher. Until his thumb brushed the edge of my panties.
I bit my lip. “Twelve a.m.?”
“Definitely thinking about you.” His voice dropped into something husky. My eyes dropped to his lap, the rigid outline of his cock underlining the meaning.
“Oh,” was all I said.
He laughed that dark laugh again. “Now what’s not fair, baby?” He arched a brow, thumb sliding just beneath my panties. Briefly. Too quick. He pulled his hand back, facing forward again.
So I climbed across the console, straddling him.
He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t help either.
“Youignoredme.”
“I was protecting you.” His hands slid to my hips. “But you don’t care about that, do you? You don’t give a shit about what Iwant. You want me fucked up. You want me feral.” He traced his hands along my curves, up to my spine, back down to my ass.
I arched into him.
Then he stopped.
