Page 134 of By His Vow
His compliment is such a shock, I lose all train of thought for a hot minute.
“One that I didn’t give you permission to look at, let alone undress.”
“If you’re expecting an apology, you’re going to be waiting a long fucking time,” he confesses before pushing to his feet and moving closer.
The air around us turns thick as my heart rate increases.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, trying to keep a level head as his scent floods my nose.
He gets so close that I have no choice but to tip my head back to keep my eyes on his. It’s either that, or I look ahead…right at his bare chest.
I swallow thickly and try to keep the image of him in the shower from my head. Obsessing over that isn’t helping anyone.
He reaches out and I gasp as his knuckles brush along my cheek before he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“I thought you could use a weekend away.”
“Why?” I breathe.
He shakes his head, his eyes searching mine.
“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” he correctly guesses.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
He smirks. “Of course not. That’s why your pupils are dilated, your chest is heaving, and your nipples are hard beneath my shirt.”
“Kingston,” I whisper, although I’m not convinced it isn’t more of a whimper.
“And something tells me that if I?—”
“Oh my god,” I gasp when his fingers brush against my thigh.
“If I were to explore a little more, I’d find you wet and ready for me.”
“Never,” I hiss.
“Such a pretty little liar, Tatum,” he muses as he traces my lips with his pointer finger.
“I-I’m not,” I argue, but I quickly discover he’s not going to find out the truth for himself because he suddenly backs away and stalks over to the small but luxurious kitchen.
“I’ll get you back for work on Monday morning. But we’re spending the weekend here. You’re going to kick back, chill out, and rest,” he instructs before pulling open the refrigerator and emerging with?—
For the love of fucking God.
“I want a coffee,” I argue, barely restraining myself from stomping my foot on the floor like a toddler.
He smirks as he pours the homemade juice from the bottle and into a glass—as if that makes it more appealing.
“You can have one. After you have this.”
I want to argue, I really fucking do, but I’m scared that if I utter even a word, he’ll take the coffee option off the table and leave me without any caffeine hit.
Admitting defeat, I stalk over, wrap my hand around the glass, and bring it to my lips.
Without thinking, I tip it back and swallow it down without coming up for air.
Honestly, it isn’t even that bad, but there’s no way I’d admit that after the fuss I’ve made.