Page 66 of Stables

His eyes follow me as I fetch my own.

Threading around his knee, I sit as close as I can without touching him, nerves making my stomach quiver and my hands tremble.

He leans forward, our elbows almost brushing, to pick up his tea. Blowing tiny ripples across the surface, he takes a tentative sip.

“Oh, that’s a new one.” His brows pop up before he takes another sample. “The best one yet.” A smile tugs at his cheek.

Heat blossoms in my chest with his simple praise.

It’s becoming a drug, chasing his elusive smiles.

He sets his cup down, then runs his long fingers through his tousled hair. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

The tease in his deep voice strikes a tight cord in me.

Holding my breath, I let my fingers light on his thigh so precariously close to mine. “I don’t have to, you know.” I meet the fire of his gaze.

His sharp inhale echoes in the dim room. “Char—”

“Please.” I trace the curve of his knee. “Make me feel something?” I whisper, hating the desperation in my words.

But I’m so tired of dancing.

I need him to get rid of the exhaustion in my soul. To patch over the holes in my heart.

To help me forget the pain.

When his burning palm circles around my wrist, I know I made a mistake.

“Char. I’m not touching you until you trust me.” He’s so quiet, it’s a struggle to hear him over the pounding in my skull.

“I do, though.” Then why are tears burning in my eyes and a lump is forming in my throat?

He shakes his head, still holding my arm, he pulls me close enough to lay my fingers over his chest. “The things I want to do to you…” He trails off, his jaw clenching.

He reaches out, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a scalding path like he did the other night. “I want to break you. Shatter you into a million pieces.” Lacing his grip behind my head, he tugs me close enough that our noses nearly touch.

The golden flecks in his eyes flick between mine as our rapid breathing mingles.

Then he drops his gaze, our foreheads pressing, he pants as if he ran a marathon. “But if I did that now, it’d ruin us both.”

“You don’t want me.” It isn’t a question. I know it’s the truth.

What other reason would there be for him to reject me?

With one movement, he drags me onto his lap to straddle his hips, my legs dangling over the chilly linoleum.

“You tell me,” he growls. His mustache tickles my cheek as he flexes his thighs.

For the first time, Ifeelhim.

Hard and huge, bulging against his zipper, he presses me with his barely restrained cock.

Only his jeans and my shorts stand between me and his monster.

The insane urge to rock forward moves my pelvis on its own, and his lids hood his eyes until his teeth grind.

Abruptly, his hands circle my waist and he shifts me back to my chair. Standing, he moves into the living room, leaving me hollow and cold in the kitchen.

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