Page 54 of Into These Eyes

Then he runs those fingers back down my legs, over the tops of my feet and toes, until he’s no longer touching me. My skin tingles with the after-effects, my core throbbing with unfulfilled need.

“Go to bed, Jamie,” he rasps. “You’re tired. And I want you wide awake for our date tomorrow night.”

“Date?” I breathe on a broken exhale.

“That’s how I’m looking at it. Is that okay with you?”

My mind reels with what he’s trying to tell me. He wants to date me? His blue eyes never leave mine while he waits for an answer. “Yes,” I whisper.

Lips twitching with a hint of a smile, he turns his attention to the TV. “Good night, J.”

Apparently, I’ve been dismissed. And I don’t even care. I’m so exhausted I know sleep will find me fast. After I have the quickest orgasm of my life. Because he’s right, I need to unwind, and he’s only succeeded in winding me up tighter.

Legs shaking, I rise, and make my way around the couch, I stop.

“Did you call me Jay?”

He turns enough so I can see the grin on his profile. “Yeah. Just the letter, your initial.”

Ridiculously pleased by that, I hurry toward my bedroom, every step confirming how slick I am between my legs.

In my ensuite, I rush through cleaning my teeth, grab a glass of water and place it on my nightstand.

Stripping off my dress, I toss it on the wingback chair and throw my bra on top.

I don’t bother with my pjs tonight. Instead, I slip between the cool sheets and turn off the lamp.

That’s when I hear water running in the main bathroom. He’s cleaning his teeth.

Impatient, I wait until his footsteps cross the floorboards to his bedroom.

Letting out a long exhale, I reach beneath the covers, wrench down my undies and kick them off my feet. When I touch myself, I’m amazed by how slippery, engorged and fucking sensitive my clit is amongst all that wetness.

I could easily make myself come just like this, but I want to imagine him pushing inside me.

In the darkness, trying to be as quiet as possible, I reach for the bottom drawer of my nightstand.

Feeling for the knob with my fingertips, I inch it open, careful not to make a sound.

I might be getting my vibrator, but it won’t be vibrating tonight.

I’m sure he’d hear it through the silence.

Wrapping my fingers around the silicon, I toss it onto the bed next to me. With my throat a little dry, I blindly reach for the glass of water. And bump it with the back of my hand.

In a panic, I fumble for it. Too late. It crashes to the floorboards, shattering the silence.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

As I reach for the lamp, I hear hurried footsteps.

Oh God. He’s not coming in here, is he?

“Jamie?” his voice booms with concern from the hallway.

“No!” I shout.

Forgetting the lamp, I turn over, frantically searching the bed for the vibrator before he—

My door flies open, the overhead light blinding me.

“Are you—”

“Get out!” I scream at him, hauling the covers up to my neck with one hand while my other desperately tries to find the vibrator before he spots it. To my horror, I see it roll down the hoisted duvet and come to a stop just shy of my feet.

Even though I don’t want to look, my eyes flick to his face and, as I suspected, he’s locked onto the traitorous pink toy.

Far too late, I use my foot to flip the corner of the duvet over it.

His eyes snap onto my exposed feet. Clearing his throat, he doesn’t even attempt to suppress a grin.

“You might want to …”

I follow his gaze, my face burning with mortification when I spot my crumpled undies on display.

“Out!” I yell, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him. Of course, he catches it.

And has the nerve to chuckle. “Are you sure you don’t need my, ah … assistance with … anything?”

“I swear to God, if you don’t get out …”

Placing the pillow over my undies, he walks out. When he shuts the door, I hear his laughter as he moves down the hallway.

I cover my burning face, utter humiliation invading every cell in my body. Did he just imply that he wanted to assist me with my vibrator? And now that I think about it, was that longing behind his amusement?

Letting out an involuntary groan, I clamp a hand over my mouth, all too aware how that probably sounds. Then, like a petulant child, I thrum my heels and fists against the mattress. How the fuck am I ever going to face him again?

I take a few deep, gulping breaths and tell myself to act like an adult and deal with it.

Why should I be ashamed? The number of times I’ve seen him with an erection, he’s probably doing it every day, multiple times a day, I reason.

He just hasn’t been stupid enough to get caught.

Of course, I haven’t taken it upon myself to barge into his room either.

Letting out a silent huff of air, I realise why he came barrelling in here. He heard glass breaking and thought I might be in danger. He’d been protecting me. Doing what I’d asked him to do. God! I can’t even be mad at him.

Opening my eyes, I’m almost blinded by the bright overhead light. Leaning over the side of the bed, I inspect the broken glass and water on the floorboards. I’ll have to clean it up. I can just see myself half asleep, stumbling to the toilet and cutting my feet open.

Pulling on my underwear, I retrieve the vibrator from the end of the mattress and place it back in the bottom drawer. Then I scoot over to the other side of the bed, slip on my pjs, grab my robe and crack the door open.

The hallway’s dark, no light coming from Gavin’s room.

Just as I’m about to sneak out, I glance down. And freeze.

There, waiting for me, is a roll of paper towels and a dustpan set.

My heart swells. He’s so damn sweet it makes me want to cry.

Up extra-early the next morning, I slip on my robe and silently open my bedroom door. From the kitchen, I hear quiet little noises. Damn it. I’d hoped to leave for work before he emerged. So I could avoid him until tonight, when I won’t be able to hide. Because apparently, we have a date.

My heart skips in my chest. Okay. Better to rip the band-aid off now and get the embarrassment over with instead of fretting about it all day.

Right. All I have to do is make the topic off-limits in an attempt to prevent further humiliation.

I head to the laundry first and put away the dustpan and paper towels. Taking a deep breath, I pad into the kitchen to find him filling the coffee machine with beans.

He knows I’m there before I say a word. I see it in the tightening of the muscles and the straightening of his spine.

He casually puts the bag of beans in the cupboard, then turns to face me with an amused smirk on his lips and a devilish spark in his eyes.

Bastard.

“Morning,” he says, his voice an octave or two lower than usual, sending heat curling between my legs. Jesus . This early in the morning? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I never finished what I started last night.

Holding up a finger, I plaster on a stern, warning glare. “ Do not say a word.”

He tilts his head, acting as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“In fact,” I add, “don’t even look at me. Just … move.”

As I stalk toward the coffee machine, he drops his gaze, shuffles a mere foot to the side, and leans a hip against the counter. I refuse to look at him. If he pins me with those gleeful blue eyes, he’ll have me blushing to my roots with the dirty thoughts I’m sure are swirling around in his head.

Placing my phone on the other side of the coffee machine, I grab my mug and set it in place. He’s so damn close, I feel the heat radiating off his body. Usually I’d find some accidentally-on-purpose way to touch or brush up against him, but that’s not happening this morning.

No. Fucking. Way.

Pressing the long-coffee button, the machine fires up, filling the kitchen with the sound of grinding beans.

As I wait, the air crackles with a new tension that hasn’t been present during our other mornings. I’m not sure if it’s me or him. Or both of us. What I do know is that if I touch him, there’ll be a reaction this time. And that’s terrifying. And way too exciting.

Work. That’s what I need to focus on. Get to work. Concentrate on the job. Don’t think about tonight.

I grind my teeth at his unmoveable presence by my side. Not that there’s anything different about that. But today I won’t touch his back or arm as I reach for a spoon. Instead, I take a wide arc around him to get to the cutlery drawer.

When I reach for the handle, he’s suddenly behind me. His chest presses against my back, his corded forearms caging me in as he places his hands on the counter.

Oh God.

The way he’s surrounding me jolts me like a defibrillator. But instead of shocking my heart back into a steady rhythm, he’s knocked it completely out of sync.

Minty breath washes over me as he leans closer, his mouth grazing my ear.

“Do not shut me out,” he growls.