Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
The touch jolts me at first, catching me off guard. Whatever I was going to say is lost as my brain drops all rational thoughts. I can’t remember the last time a guy, or another person for that matter, touched me, it’s been so long.
And damn if it doesn’t feel good.
I take a breath, and another, and another. Trying to get my body’s response under control.
It’s just his hand on my thigh, yet there’s more to it. There’s something extremely possessive about the touch. His weight against my flesh. His fingers curling around me, holding me in place.
While I try to figure out whether I want to ask him to remove his hand or not, something that feels dangerously close to arousal begins to slowly creep up on me and my core involuntarily clenches.
All kinds of wild thoughts start to run through my head while I look at him.
My heart races with something. Something that should be apprehension, but isn’t. No, dammit, it’s excitement.
All from having his hand on my thigh.
How the hell am I getting turned on by this? He’s a complete stranger, a stranger who obviously thinks I’m going to sleep with him. After the night I’ve had, my body should be in total lockdown mode, not lighting up as if his touch just awakened a hunger inside me that’s long been dormant.
A hunger that’s been waiting for this moment.
His fingers tighten around me and I gasp as his grip becomes more possessive.
Quick Zoe, think of something to put an end to this…
He peels his gaze away from the road again and looks me dead in the eyes. His eyes burn in the darkness, full of promise and a question.
It’s almost as if he’s asking me if we’re going to do this.
Are we? Shouldn’t I put a stop to this? I know I should, but when was the last time a man made me feel like this? Made me feel anything at all but hurt, anger, or resentment?
I open and shut my mouth.
Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve got nothing.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, turning his attention back to the road just in time to see the light up ahead changing.
He removes his hand from my thigh to switch gears, and I really wish he didn’t. My thigh throbs with warmth where he touched. It feels as if my skin has been branded by his hand.
I should find a way out of this…
As the car comes to a complete stop, I consider briefly making a jump for it. But it’s not because I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me. No, it’s because I’m afraid of my reaction to him.
As if he can tell exactly what I’m thinking, he reaches over again, grabbing my thigh.
Squeezing it. Kneading it.
Once again, a thrill shoots through me and it’s everything I can do to keep from moaning.
Oh god, what is wrong with me? Have I gone mad? This is crazy and stupid, yet I’m totally going with it.
“Everything okay….” he asks, his smooth, husky voice trailing off as he frowns with consternation. “Shit, I don’t know your name.”
A little wrinkle appears between his brow and I have the strongest urge to reach out and rub that little wrinkle away.
“Zoe,” I tell him instead.
“Zoe,” he repeats and grins. His grin lights his entire face up and he’s suddenly even more handsome. “My friends call me Bry.”
Oh, is that what we are? Friends?
A car honks behind us and he glances back in annoyance. Dragging his hand away from my thigh like it’s the last thing he wants to do, he grabs the gearshift and puts the car back into motion.
Once the car picks up speed, he reaches over, placing his hand on my thigh again. The way his fingers wrap around me, gripping me, I can’t help but feel this is his way of claiming me. Of owning me.
And my heart races a little faster at that thought.
“So… Zoe,” he says, his mouth seeming to linger on my name like he likes the taste of it.
Keeping his eyes on the road, the tips of his fingers slide down, brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “What are your rules?”
“Rules?” I gasp as his hand begins to slide up, along my thigh, towards the short hem of my dress.
“Yes, rules,” he frowns at the road.
His hand continues its slow, steady climb up my skirt, and I can’t help it, I wiggle and squirm.
His grip suddenly tightens around me to hold me still. My eyes fly to his face but his attention is still riveted on the road.
“Rules such as no kissing on the lips... No kissing on the breasts…”
Is he thinking about doing that? Oh god. My entire body clenches in response. Just knowing that this dark, handsome stranger is thinking about doing those things to me, that he wants me, boils my blood.