Page 10 of Almost Ravaged

And once we get home, we’ll have very little opportunity to talk without an audience.

We’re alone, and we won’t get another chance like this.

I toy with the strap of my seat belt, apprehension swirling in my belly. We don’t have long, but I’m afraid to make the first move, and I’m terrified I’ll say the wrong thing.

What now?The words play on repeat in my mind.

After another charged second, he twists in his seat. Dark eyes meet mine, his expression even, giving nothing away.

I swallow, unnerved by the silent stare. He looks at me like he can see right into the depths of my soul. He looks at me like I’m a craving, or something he wants to consume but won’t allow himself to have.

As ridiculous as the sentiment may be, I want him to give up the fight. To give in to this,to us, to allow himself to take, if I’m truly what he wants.

This in between space, where we almost crossed a line, where I’m too far gone to pretend I’m not deeply changed, is my personal purgatory.

The apprehension turns into pure anxiety.

Anxiety and the first hints of embarrassment.

Because what if this is all in my head? What if it’s just a game to him? And if it’s not, then how the hell is it supposed to work?

With a quiet hum, Tytus pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. Deadpan, he tips his chin toward me. “You’re sure you felt that recoil, mon ange?”

Mon ange.

My angel.

He’s never called me that until tonight. He’s never called me anything other than Sawyer.

Relief washes over me, quelling my racing thoughts.

This isn’t nothing. He feels it, too.

Grinning, I swat at his arm. “You know I felt it.”

He holds my gaze, his eyes brimming with unspoken desire and so much potential.

“He’s going to wonder what’s taking us so long,” I whisper.

With an apologetic smile, he runs his hand through his hair and shoves his door open. “I know. We better get in there.”

I unbuckle my seat belt and slide across the bench seat. As I reach for the handle, the door opens and Tytus reaches down and offers his hand.

He rests an arm on the top of the frame and leans in so it holds some of his weight. To anyone nearby, it should look like a casual stance, like he’s waiting for me to get out so he can close the door.

Yet the intimacy of the moment goes so much deeper.

He helps me out of the car, and instead of releasing me once I’m steady, he laces our fingers, tilts closer, and brushes his thumb back and forth over my index finger.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers, his eyes flitting between mine. A strand of dark hair falls forward.

It takes all my willpower not to brush it away.

“I can’t betray your brother or disrespect your parents. Not after everything they’ve done for me.”

My heart plummets, free-falling into a bottomless abyss.

Tytus squeezes my hand, as if he knows exactly where my mind has gone.