by Adams, S. C.
Ugh. I sound like a dumb little girl. He didn’t hit on me and he possibly can’t be interested in someone like me, not really. He probably wants someone who actually knows what they’re doing.
Why do I have to act so stupid? I could kick myself from embarrassment. One of his brows arches.
“I can’t believe that,” he says. My forehead furrows.
“Why not?” I ask. After all, it makes sense. I’ve never really been able to attract the opposite sex. Maybe it’s because my boobs are too big or the fact that my head is always buried in a book. I don’t know, but there’s something about me that repels the male gender. My mother would say I just lack the necessary skills, but I’m not even sure what that means.
“You’re much too pretty to ignore,” he rumbles with another amused smile.
“Oh, thanks!” I say quickly. “Um, great.”
His hand lands on my knee, snaking up to my inner thigh.
“Is this okay?” His fingers massage my thigh, tickling my insides. I’m hyper aware of everything around me: the music, the lights, people dancing, talking, and laughing. Hot breath skims the outside of my ear.
“This is great,” I say, barely able to breathe. My heart is going at a million miles an hour, and I feel like I might hyperventilate at any second.
“Should I keep going?” he whispers.
I turn to face him; our lips are close to touching. Almost instinctively, my legs open up, giving him all the access he needs.
Without lowering his eyes, his hand travels further and further up my leg. The couch pushes against my palms as I tense up, doing what I can to relieve the pressure. I’ve never done anything like this, I swear. I’ve never had a man touch me so intimately in such a private place.
“Are you going to…?” I can’t even finish my thought. Oh, my cheeks are on fire. Thank god he can’t see how flushed I am in the darkness. I’m not totally inexperienced, but I haven’t done a lot either.
“Am I going to what?” he growls with that amused smile again. I don’t want to ask the question on my mind, so I make a substitution.
“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“Whatever you want me to, pretty girl.” Those blue eyes search mine, and up close, I notice their pure cobalt color. They’re gorgeous, like lasers in the darkness of the club. I feel his fingers dig into my thigh, the power in him making me shiver deep inside.
We’ll do whatever I want.
But the real question is, what do I want?
To be continued …
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About the Author
S.C. Adams is a romance author who likes her stories hot and unprotected. She grew up a Jersey girl but considers herself a global citizen now. She gives thanks to the gods of Paypal, Amazon, and Microsoft for allowing her to work anywhere in the world, including on the beaches of Bali and the mountains of Peru. Oh, and she also hates chocolate, but loves dogs. Currently toting her mutt Minnie to a new location every three months.
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