Page 39 of Lawson

I whirl around, giving Lawson a questioning look.

Reality seems to crash over him, and he cringes. “Shit. I just reacted. Fuck me, Blakely. I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. I shouldn't have laid claim to you. You want me to go back and tell the guy?—”

“Hell no,” I cut him off, and his hazel eyes flare.

“You're not pissed?”

I’m really not, and I havenoidea what that means, but I’m not exactly in the mood to unpack it.

“I don't know,” I say a little playfully. “Maybe I am.”

Lawson seems to immediately catch on to my tone and mood, as he often does, and steps a little closer to me. “How can I make it up to you, damsel?”

Warmth trickles into my blood, swirling down to my core. My memory flies back to our first encounter when he promised orgasms and ice cream as a make-up method. I’m tempted to ask for that, but instead I say, “Give me another dance?”

His smile widens. “I'll dance with you all night if it means you're not mad at me.”

With the way this man behaves, he’ll be impossible to stay angry with, but I’m not about to tell him that. Instead, I let him take me back to the dance floor, the makeshift space in Kiplin's oversized living room where loads of people are dancing to the music that filters through the speakers both inside and outside of the house.

Lawson and I come together as easily and effortlessly as if we've been doing it for years instead of weeks. Just like during our private lessons, we’re attuned to each other's bodies and movements, which only makes moving on the dance floor that much more electric.

Plus, not being here in a work capacity makes my inhibitions much looser, and my mind is one-tracked when it comes to this man. He’s delivered the most incredible kisses I've ever had in my entire life. And yes I don't have that much to compare it to, but I am quite certain there’s nothing as addicting as Lawson Wolfe’s mouth.

“I'm flattered,” Lawson says as he looks down at me as we move to the music.

My eyes widen and panic creeps in. Did I say that out loud?

“That you'd rather dance with me than chat up a potential new prospect. Who knows, he could have been boyfriend material,” he continues.

Relief barrels through me, and I melt into his embrace just a little more as he sways us back and forth to the melody. God, just him moving innocently against my body like this has me wound tighter than a drum. I've never had this kind of reaction before, and I can't say that I hate it. Even when the anticipation and need feels like it might snap at any moment.

“I’m so done with boyfriends,” I say. “I mean, I only have one to compare the rest to, but in my experience, boyfriends are lacking.”

“Your ex definitely was,” he says. “But who knows, that guy might have been Mr. Right.”

“I'm not looking for Mr. Right,” I explain. “Brian talked about that all the time, and the way he did…it sounded more like a prison sentence than a dream come true. It was unnerving, toward the end.”

“About what?” he asks, shifting his hands on my hips and my back to dip me slightly and bring me back to him.

“About marriage,” I answer. “In the beginning, it’d been innocent enough, just a boyfriend sharing dreams for the future, but just like with everything else, it got more intense at the end. And I began questioning why I wasn'teagerto spend the rest of my life with someone that I’d been with for years. I literally used to have panic attacks whenever he’d take me to fancy restaurants because I thought he was going to propose.” I sigh. “After I realized that, I knew I couldn't stay with him. How could I? Not only was he controlling, always commenting on what I wore or ate, but he was selfish insomany other areas. I feel like an idiot for staying as long as I did, but I had nothing else to compare it to. And who would want to spend the rest of their life with someone who never took care of them, in any regard?” I shake my head, flashing Lawson an apologetic look. “Sorry, that was a ramble.”

“Never apologize for saying what's on your mind,” he says. “I love hearing what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours.” He moves us, shifting easily from one song to the next. “I hope this isn't crossing a line,” he says, and my heart rate spikes. “But you mentioned something similar at the event a couple weeks ago. When you say he never took care of you, are you talking aboutallareas of the relationship?”

My lips part, a gasp rattling past them. I can tell from the way he’s looking at me what exactly he’s asking. I had brought it up at the event but hadn’t been too blunt about it. The shy part of me begs not to answer him, but the independent and hopeful part of me that trusts Lawson is the one that answers. “Yeah, even in the bedroom.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, to be fair, I'm not as experienced as you are. Brian is all I've ever known. So, I guess I can't really say that hedidn'ttake care of me. But when comparing it to the times I’m alone, with myself, there is no comparison.”

A muscle in Lawson's jaw flexes, and he stills on the dance floor for a few seconds before returning to the motions. “That's a fucking shame,” he says. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

“I don't know about that,” I say, shrugging.

Lawson draws me closer, his hands splaying on my lower back as he presses our hips together. “You do,” he says. “You really fucking do.”

“What, you want to be the one to take care of me?” I tease, trying to get us back to that playful ground.

“If you let me,” he says. “I would take care of you right now.”

---