Page 17 of Him Too

“Don’t overthink what I said, Jordin.”

I felt my eyes narrow. How could I not? He had basically just confessed to loving me—or something close to it. The way he said it, all soft, unashamed. I was freaking out. I wanted to make him say it plain, to explain why to me, but that was a step too close to a line I shouldn’t cross. Not with a husband and unmade decisions.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I lied, eyes fixed on the needle tracing LaVern’s voice.

“Good,” he replied.

He reached for my ankle casually, like he’d done it a hundred times before, pulling my foot into his lap.

He didn’t say anything else. His thumbs began to move, kneading at the flesh. The first press made me sigh, involuntarily. I hated that he heard it.

“You like that?” he teased again, his voice a lazy drawl that vibrated right through the sole of my foot and up my spine.

“Don’t start,” I muttered, the warning feeble even to my own ears.

He only hummed, low in his chest, a resonant sound that tangled with LaVern’s voice from the record. He started to sing along, his voice rougher, but soulful enough to make something deep in my chest flutter dangerously.

“I waited too long… to say that I love you…”

I closed my eyes, trying not to get swept away in the warmth of his hands, in the ache of his voice, in the feel of his skin but whenhis thumbs pressed into the arch of my foot, working a tension I hadn't even named, something inside me shivered.

It was too much. Too tender. Too intimate.

I pulled my foot back slightly.

“Ciarán… stop,” I whispered, the plea raw.

“Relax,” he whispered, his grip getting firmer, not letting me retreat. His thumb continued its slow, maddening circles.

“Ain’t gonna bite.”

He leaned forward, his gaze dark and heavy-lidded. The cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a look of pure, predatory focus.

“I might lick, though. Right here on this sensitive spot just below your ankle. See if you taste as sweet as you sound when you sigh when I touch it. Or I might suck… gently… on each one of your toes until you forget your own name.”

My breath hitched, and got trapped in my lungs.

“Or,” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his hand slid from my foot to my calf, his fingers branding my skin,

“I could just keep going. See how long it takes before you’re not telling me to stop anymore… but begging me not to.”

Oh yeah, this was too much.

“No, really. Stop,” I said, making sure I sounded firm, though I didn’t feel it.

He froze,looking directly at me. For a moment, the air between us was electric—thick. Then he smirked.

“You sure?” he asked softly, his hand still hovering near my ankle. “You don’t sound like you really want me to.”

I swallowed, forcing a small laugh to break the tension.

“You’re so full of yourself. Let my foot go, negro.”

With that, he pushed my foot off his lap and stood, stretching.

“I’m calling it a night.”

“Good,” I replied, pretending to be unbothered. “I need myspace.”