She tilts her head, and the smirk that surfaces is lethal. “Right. Because you’d just be doing me a favor.”
“In truth, you’d be helping me out too.” I hold her gaze because pretending this is one-sided would be a damn lie. “Scent matches in close proximity for extended periods can trigger the intensity, and the way your body stops negotiating with your brain. I’ve never experienced this before.” My voice roughens despite my best effort to keep it steady. “But fuck me, Claire, whatever this is, it’s all-consuming.”
“You’re telling me.” She takes a sip of her hot chocolate, but her hand isn’t as steady as it was a minute ago. “It’s never been instant for me. I’ve had slow buildups of my heat. Gradual cycles. Even living with Louis, I never reacted this way.” Her eyes flick to mine, dark and embarrassed and hungry all at once. “This is different, as if my body now runs the show.”
“That’s exactly me too,” I say a bit too enthusiastically.
The air between us thickens. Neither of us moves, but I’m already imagining a dozen ways to close the space. Her across my lap. Her hands in my hair. Her mouth losing that careful little edge because I’ve finally filled it with my cock.
She’s staring at me too intently, probably searching for proof that I’m as ruined as she is, and I’m close to giving it to her. Close to standing, dropping my pants, and letting her see exactlywhat she’s done to me. But that feels less romantic and more desperate, and I’m trying hard to stay on the right side of that line.
“Maybe saying it out loud will help,” I offer. “Whatever’s in your head. Get it out.”
She laughs, but it’s breathless now. “I highly doubt that.”
“Try me.”
She holds my gaze and shakes her head.
I shrug. “Fine, I’ll go first. I’m thinking about pulling that robe open with my teeth. Pushing you up against that kitchen counter and lifting you onto it. Spreading your thighs, kneeling between them, and tasting you until you call me your god. Then I wouldn’t stop until you’re shaking and begging me to.”
She hasn’t moved and the silence stretches. Her chest rises and falls quickly while her fingers are white around the mug. Her lips are parted as if she’s struggling to hold back. I fucking love this look on her.
“Oh God. I definitely need another cold shower.”
I swear every muscle in my body locks. “I can start one for you, but Iwillbe joining you.” I smirk, leaning back against the couch. “Or I can stay right here and be incredibly noble while you suffer.”
“That’s your noble face?”
“You like it?”
She suddenly stands, sets the mug down, and heads toward the kitchen. My gaze follows her, locked on every movement. The bathrobe shifts as she moves, the belt loosening, the hem swinging against her thighs. A flash of bare thigh. The curve of her shoulder where the fabric has slipped. She’s a flame in a robe, and I’m about to catch alight.
I’m on my feet in seconds, following as though she’s put a spell on me.
She’s at the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water, and she turns to find me two feet behind her.
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “You’re here.”
“Figured we could both use cooling down.”
We stare at each other. The kitchen is dark except for the glow of the fire spilling through the open plan, and the shadows carve her face into angles of gold and black. She’s breathing fast. Her robe is parted at the collar, revealing the line of her throat, the dip of her collarbone, the beginning of a curve of her breasts I can’t see but can imagine with perfect, tormenting clarity.
She opens the bottle and drinks. Fast, desperate, her throat working with every swallow, water spilling from the corner of her mouth and trailing down her chin. It slips onto her chest, disappearing between her collarbones into the shadow of the robe, and my whole body goes tight watching it go somewhere my mouth wants to follow.
I swallow so hard my throat clicks.
She lowers the bottle, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and holds it out. “Want some?”
I take it and drink the rest without breaking eye contact. The cold is a slap to my system because the heat between us is tectonic.
She nudges past me and it’s not an accident. Her breast brushes my arm through the robe, deliberate enough to send a current straight through my cock. She keeps walking as if she hasn’t just put me one breath away from losing my mind, drifting toward the living room with the robe shifting around her thighs.
She knows exactly what she’s doing, and if she doesn’t, that might be worse.
“So,” I say, watching her like I have no self-preservation left. “I shared my fantasy. Your turn.”
She pauses at the island, fingers trailing along the granite. “That’s not happening.”