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My panting breath hits his lips, and my eyes rest on them. His lower lip is slightly open.
He runs his index finger over it, wiping away the single drop of blood.
I swallow my saliva with difficulty. I fidget, my burning thighs sticking to the kitchen counter on which I am still sitting. There is no way to escape. But do I really want to?
“You bit me,” he accuses me in his deep voice.
With a small smile on my lips, I shrug my shoulders, trying to look relaxed.
Then his gaze turns dark and calculating.
What the…?
I don’t have time to think. His eyes still fixed on mine, Tucker tilts his head toward me. As I rear back, I realize my lips weren’t the target of his attack. His mouth reaches my right nipple, and my breath catches.
Is he going to…?
A small cry leaves my mouth as his teeth gently close on my flesh, tugging on it through the fabric of my top.
The muscles in my lower abdomen twitch in response. I barely hold back a moan…of pain? Of unfulfilled desire?
Tucker then runs his tongue over the fabric covering my flesh, hoping to soothe the pain.
Finally, my lips let out an incoherent sound, a sort of ridiculous complaint. Well, not so ridiculous if I believe the boiling body that answers me and the hand that grips my hip.
Then, almost immediately, Tucker steps back.
Is he trying to be reasonable, too?
His gaze wanders to my breast, then to my face. His fists clench, unclench, then clench again. A lock of dark hair falls on his forehead, which he pushes back. His bulging muscles are contracted, his shoulders tense a little more while I still don’t move an inch.
The atmosphere is far too heavy. The pressure between us doesn’t fade. And that’s not a good sign, because too much pressure always ends up exploding.
So, trying to break out of my lethargy, I try a line of irony. “You have this annoying habit of kissing me. I’ll end up believing that I really do have an effect on you.”
The humor hardly pierces in my voice, and neither he nor I laugh at my teasing sentence. On the contrary, his expression becomes a little harder at my words, as if I meant that comment to be taken seriously.
“It’s true,” he finally grumbles.
I raise an eyebrow, not sure I follow. What’s true? I can’t even remember what I said specifically.
“You’re having a fucking effect on me,” he grumbles under his breath.
He seems to be in the grip of an inner dilemma, as if he hadn’t planned to tell me this.
I am stunned by these words. I didn’t expect this answer. Shock overwhelms me. Did he really just say that I had a “fucking effect” on him?
Okay, so I’m not the only one who feels that way.
“What the hell are we doing?” I whisper almost to myself.
But he understands my words perfectly. I look for an answer that I can’t find on his face. His eyes crinkle a little more, and he nods curtly several times. He doesn’t seem to know either.
Faced with this sudden tension, I jump off the counter and try to ignore his gaze on me. I turn my back to him. My palms are sweaty, my heart still beats madly. In a heavy silence, I go back to my computer and close it again. Finally, I tell him in a voice that I hope sounds normal, “I was a little distracted while reading the damn thing, I’ll read it again and analyze the facts calmly later.”
My sentence makes him understand that he is not welcome here anymore. Faced with the silence that answers me, I raise my head and find him a few steps away from me. He still hasn’t moved and is staring at me.
Too disturbing. Turn your gaze away, you sexy bastard, or I won’t answer to anything.
