him I was delusional, desperate and/or dangerous. Lord knows it was probably justified. I’d only just met the man, and I’d just sent my date home in a taxi. Not that Nathan and I were a proper item.
‘I’m not sure I can do that, Lyssa.’
I heard the words, but it was his expression I paid attention to. He never once looked away. ‘Even if I say please?’ Daringly, I touched his face.
‘Even if you say pretty please.’ He didn’t attempt to escape my touch, though he did put his hand over mine. I bit my lip. I guess I’d read the whole thing wrong and had somehow misconstrued his politeness for genuine interest, and yet … Dammit, I leaned forward to steal what I wanted. He tasted good. It felt even better.
He looked slightly shocked, but not in an angry way. Taking that as encouragement, I leaned forward to do it again. Victor covered his mouth with his fingers. Instead of kissing, we stared at one another from a distance of mere inches.
‘I can’t.’
‘Nathan and I, we’re not committed,’ I explained, thinking that might be the reason for his reluctance. He had just witnessed me being taken by the guy. ‘What I mean is that we’re lovers, but we’re not in love. We’re not exclusive. We see other people.’ I’m not sure my explanation was really helping.
‘I still can’t.’
‘Girlfriend?’ I wondered aloud.
‘No.’
‘Married?’ Not that he was wearing a ring, but not all guys do.
He shook his head.
Well, I guess I’d made a big enough fool of myself. I made to rise, only for him to catch hold of my hand. My insides were flip-flopping between precaution and desire, as he drew me back down onto the sofa, but I knew what was going to happen. I was going to have sex with this man. Sizzling hot, uncomplicated, birthday sex and it was going to be terrific.
‘I’m curious, do you make a habit of flaunting yourself and then propositioning the onlookers?’
‘Do you make a habit of spying on people?’
‘Touché.’
Goddammit, what were we doing. He was still holding my hand, and smoothing circles over my knuckles with his thumb. How could I feel so turned on by something so simple?
‘Nathan stole your cab, by the way.’
‘Did he?’ He didn’t seem overly concerned by the fact. ‘I guess that means I’m stuck here a little longer.’
Considering he’d just refused to kiss me, he made that remark sound awfully like a proposition.
‘And?’ I prompted. Something had to happen. I couldn’t sit here feeling this tense without completely losing my mind.
‘And –’ His smile grew impossibly broad. ‘– and I’m sorry I missed the opportunity to see you –’
‘– to see me?’
‘Come,’ he said.
Heat rushed through me like I’d been hit by a geyser. I was stunned by his words and simultaneously aflame. My body gave one pulse after another, while between my thighs I was suddenly sodden. I’d never had such a strong reaction to a single word before. I didn’t actually come, but I came insanely close.
‘Maybe you could touch yourself?’
OK, I thought I’d been forward for stealing kisses, but he was demanding far more.
‘Where exactly?’ As if the direction of his gaze didn’t make it obvious. ‘You can’t expect me to do that here?’
‘Why’s it any different to what you were doing earlier?’ When he put it like that, he sort of had a point. I’d still be getting off in public with an audience. It’s just that doing myself seemed far naughtier than doing it with another person, and I at least knew Sam and David, whereas I knew nothing about him. Of course, that hadn’t stopped me trying to jump his bones a minute ago. Nor was I particularly shy about this sort of thing. I wasn’t the kind of girl who never touched herself. I often used my fingers to help things along. Plus, there was every possibility that if I did this, he’d be all over me as hard as I could possibly wish.
I sat back and, knees bent, opened my legs a fraction, just enough so that he could see up my dress. Tentatively, I put one hand on my thighs, and raised it along with the hem of my dress.
Victor’s gaze became fully focussed on the ascent of my fingertips. He crept forward, first perching on the sofa edge, then kneeling on the floor to watch as I brushed through the tufts of dark curling hair framing my sex. Considering how aroused I already was, I kept the touches light, and well away from anything sensitive.
‘I bet you’re really good with your hands, being a sculptor.’
The prompt failed to draw him. If he’d just move one of his hands slightly so that it lay upon my thigh.
‘Potter,’ he corrected. ‘Sculptors carve. They chip away at things. I mould things to my will.’
I could believe that, although, presently I was more interested in getting my hands on his body and exploring all of his curious male angles and ridges, than letting him top me. Instinct told me he possessed the sort of washboard abs you could climb down, and I had high hopes for other bits too, given the bulge he was sporting.
‘Why don’t you touch properly?’ he asked, reasonably.
‘Because I’m wound too tight.’ I’d come too fast and too hard, when I wanted to draw this out. ‘Surely you know how that feels.’ An erection as fierce as the one he had caged had to hurt. ‘Maybe you should … as well.’
Our gazes met. Raw lust crackled between us. I read his need. How he longed to bury himself deep, pound into me until there were no boundaries left between us, and we burned with pure lust. I saw too that he wouldn’t do it. Victor Alexander had no intention of doing me, even if that meant he had to ride home with a hard-on you could bang nails with. He wouldn’t give in. Not tonight, and as far as I could read, not any time soon either.
For some mad reason, he’d decided not to touch me or himself.
‘Do you usually just get off by watching?’
‘Not as a rule.
‘Touch yourself there,’ he demanded.
My fingers were trembling, my agility shot to pieces. It was like a battle of wills. Both of us staring. I’m not sure who gasped the loudest when I finally did as he asked. My little bud stood so far to attention that one press there was like hitting the ignition on an explosive device. And once done, there was no going back. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t unwind the act.
Victor remained unearthly still. He didn’t rub himself. He didn’t even twist to generate friction. He just let his yearning fill up his expression, until it became too raw to look at, too mesmerising and terrifying. I didn’t understand it, but I felt its lure.
My eyelids fluttered closed.
