Page 38 of Torrid Passion
His fingers brush down the length of my arm.
A rush of electricity unravels me. With just one touch, my heart speeds up like a Euro train, with as much velocity as the tingles that spread up my spine. And through my pussy.
Mother of God.
“Talk to me, gorgeous.”
I gulp, already feeling way out of my depth. “Because I like you,” I say, averting my gaze.
“You can’t say something like that and look away.”
“This is awkward enough.”
“Look at me, Kyla,” he implores.
I do.
“You like me as in, I’m Harlow’s big brother and you’ve known me forever?”
“I don’t mean it in that way.”
“You don’t?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
The mischievous glee in his eyes suggests otherwise.
“I like you, like you.” I pause. “A lot.”
“I see. And how long has this been going on?”
“Longer than I’m willing to admit.” I inhale a deep breath for courage. “And then there’s Paris…”
“And here we are… back to Paris.” He pauses. “Would it be a surprise if I told you I like you, like you, too?” His lips stretch into a smile. “A lot.”
My jaw drops.
“Oh.”
“Let’s talk about Grant… the pussy-whisperer.” His voice is gruff.
If I could dig a hole in the ground and hide, I would.
“Do we have to?” I shudder with embarrassment. It’s one thing when Seraphina and my cousins knew about this, but Loki? “Nothing happened with Grant.”
“But you were meeting him for a specific reason.”
“I’ve already confessed as much.”
“Grant’s thing is pure mathematics—how many pussies he can lick. It almost sounds like he’s trying to make it into the Guinness World Records.” I laugh. “This pussy. That pussy. The other pussy. It doesn’t matter— I take that back. Preferably, his victims must also have a very, very big butt.”
His words elicit laughter, but his serious stare and low voice silence me.
“Here’s what I think. Grant likes pussy, but he’s just scratching the surface. His promise shortchanges you.”
“It does?”
