Page 264 of Unexpected Heroine

She’s under my protection. Why is that so hot? My nipples immediately jump to attention. If they could speak, they’d be prattling on about how they’re also in danger and in desperate need of his services.

Damn horny nipples.

That car ride was a test of my physical restraint, and I barely passed. My hyper sex drive, or whatever Simone called it, is in high gear, flying down the road at five times the speed limit.

The feel of his hand on my thigh about sent me to orbit. I wanted to guide his fingers between my legs so damn badly.

Yet, as much as my body craved him, my heart and head somehow remained in control. I don’t only want his body. He’s worth more to me than sex.

I believe there’s a good man inside him. And I’m determined to pull his true self to the surface with every ounce of stubbornness I was born with.

We don’t speak the entire elevator ride or the long walk down the hall. His proximity has me on edge, ready to jump him. I’m desperate to know if I can come with his cock inside me. A slight moan escapes me with only the thought of trying.

Tomer notices, his head whipping in my direction and eyes darkening. Well, that’s not gonna help the wetness between my thighs.

Attempting to ignore his heated gaze, I press my thumb to the fingerprint reader to access my room. By the time we’re inside with the door locked behind me, I’ve licked my lips raw. Still, we don’t speak.

Do not jump him until he talks to you, Lettie. Don’t fucking do it. You are in control of your body.

He grazes past me, taking the to-go bag and setting it on the small table. I kick off my sandals and dig deep into my reserves of inner strength.

Do. Not. Jump. Him.

When I look up, he’s standing in the middle of my room, directly under the ceiling fan. The warm glow of the fixture shines down like a spotlight, accentuating his defined arms and the lines of his broad shoulders barely hidden under the thin material of his T-shirt. His hands are cast into sharp fists at his sides, making the veins on his forearms pop.

When my eyes finally reach his, they’re nothing but pools of desire.

Heavens to Betsy. Why does he have to look so good? This is unfair.

His chest heaves with his deep breaths. Mine does the same.

He takes a step toward me, then forces himself backward. That famous self-control of his is seconds from disintegrating into nothingness. He’s a bull about to charge.

Meanwhile, my mind shuffles through ways I could metaphorically wave a red cloth like a sexual matador, daring him to attack. Olé.

I chastise myself again. No, Lettie. Talk first.

“Um,” I start, my voice timid and meek. Not from shyness or fear but overwhelming arousal. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Those pants look stiff. He should take them off. While he’s at it, lose the rest of his garments. I’ll get more comfortable too. Naked, perhaps?

No, Lettie. Bad girl.

Tucking his hands into his back pockets, he rocks on his heels and flickers his gaze around. “So this is your room, huh?”

Adorable how he thinks I’m falling for his nonchalant act. Neither of us can pull that off, considering we’re both electrified with sexual tension. If we dare touch, sparks will come off our skin.

“Yep.”

“It’s nice.”

My desire to make him talk is rapidly replaced with an entirely different desire.

“Is this your first time seeing one of these rooms?” A grin I can’t fight flashes over my face as I taunt, “I mean seeing one in person?”

The reminder of the show I gave him a few nights ago that ended with me getting myself off on the bed must be the red square of fabric I was seeking.

The bull charges.

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