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Low and slow, his voice travels like lazy water. “Everything about you is a big deal.”
My chest flutters as my head still tries to put up a fight.
“One time was enough.”
“Was it?” His head tilts, mischief taking ownership of his face.
“Yes. I don’t double dip.”
His bright white teeth take over his face in the sexiest smile and, fuck, I hate that when he’s up to no good it makes him even hotter.
“Have you ever tried?”
“What?”
“Double dipping. Have you tried?”
Growing tired of his games, I huff back in my seat, taking this moment to rid myself of my suffocating sweatshirt, letting the leather morph around my body.
“Have you ever had a piece of juicy steak, and the most decadent, fragrant, chimichurri on top and not been able to stop yourself from going back for seconds?”
“Nope.” I pop my lips for dramatic effect. Acting be damned, sweat trickles at the base of my neck. This is about so much more than fucking steak.
“Even if it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted?” He continues.
“Yep.” I stay the course.
“Even if the smell and taste caused your senses to explode. Left goosebumps to cover your body, hairs on your arms to rise, and the tight little nipples on your perfect tits to cut right through your tiny little top.”
I look down at my shirt, the white material and lack of anything underneath completely betraying me as I lift my chin to find his eyes where mine just left.
“Y-Yep.” I hesitate, trying to convince myself just as much as I am him.
“You know one thing I love about when people pretend they don’t like something?”
His hypothetical question lingers, but I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to calm myself. Too busy trying to dry the building wet spot in my panties that only increases at this man’s every word.
“It leaves more for me, and you wanna know something about me?”
“Not really.”
Laughing to himself, Jett scoots forward in his chair, his long, strong legs now only inches from mine. I do all I can not to inch forward with him just to feel what it may feel like to combine our skin.
“I love what people hate. So, Sofia baby, that means the more you hate me, the more I fucking love it.”
“I—”
“Shhh.”
He moves himself even closer, forcing his knees flush against mine. Nothing but his undivided attention focused on me.
“Don’t touch me,” I grit out through my teeth, desperate to feel anything but the burn from his touch.
“I’m hardly touching you, but I can’t stop fucking thinking about it either.”
“I’m not thinking about it,” I nearly bark, upset by his assumption, but my thighs clench in protest.
The truth is, since the night I practically gave him a lap dance in the studio, all I can think about is him touching me.
