Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(25)

He scrutinized my face, his intense and calculating gaze never leaving me.

I didn’t want to tell him that I was also really, really bad at personal relationships. I’d been left for another man, for the love of god. Of course, my rational mind knew I hadn’t turned him gay, that he had already been gay, but it still stung.

Break up with a girl then come out a week later, yeah?

Let the breakup sink in before you tell her you prefer sausages over tacos.

“Now, tell me the rest,” he demanded. Demanded was harsh, maybe, but it was close enough. His voice had a slight edge. “I can see the truth when you look at me. Your emerald eyes are too bright to hide a damn thing.”

“I’m shit at personal relationships,” I blurted out before I knew what I was doing. “Okay? Like, really bad. I’m the loser they make chick flicks about. I could write a book on dating fails. I have them all. After my last breakup, I said no more. This working relationship solidifies it.”

“All right.” He turned back to the sheets on the table. “What next?”

I stilled and stared at him. “That’s it? You make me spit that out and you say, ‘What next?’”

He sighed heavily. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on top of his knees, heturned to me and hit me with his blue eyes. “Mia, angel, I appreciate that. I accept it. But you’re as attracted to me as I am you, and sooner or later, you’re going to have to give in to it.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

I knew he was right—there was...something...between us. Something tangible. The tension tingled over my skin every time I was within a hundred meters of him. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t fight it.

“I don’t think want has anything to do with it,” he said. “You didn’t want me to kiss you last night, but I did, and I bet you went to bed, your * wet and aching, wishing I’d never left.”

My cheeks flamed. Fuck. I hated that he could make me blush so easily. It was his superpower.

I also hated that he was right.

“Exactly.” His lips moved into a smug smirk. “Don’t tell me you didn’t go to sleep thinking about me and what I could do to you, because you know damn well what I can do.”

“Then I won’t tell you that.” I swallowed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’ve veered onto inappropriate territory once again.”

West leaned back and lifted one of his feet so it rested on his knee. Even as his bicep flexed as he laid his arm across the back of the sofa again, my gaze was drawn to the obvious bulge pushing against his fitted, black dress pants.

“Mia, when you’re in the room, I never leave inappropriate territory. I’m constantly thinking about all the different ways I can make you come all over my cock again.”

Oh god. Oh god. My * clenched, and I squeezed my thighs together in the hope it would dull the desperate ache that had started in my clit. I was wet—I could feel it—and the inside of my bra was suddenly harsh against my hardened nipples.

I wanted him to throw me back on this sofa, bunch my skirt around my waist, and slip inside me. I didn’t even care if we were naked—he could undo his pants and pull his cock out for all I cared. My lust was taking over my consciousness, and I needed to get a handle on it, because it couldn’t happen.

I could fight this attraction.

I wouldn’t succumb to the temptation that was West Rykman.

“See? I haven’t touched you and you’re squirming. Are you wet, Mia?”

I refused to answer. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying yes. He was pushing my buttons, trying to get me to give in.

The dirty, sexy smirk returned to his face. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

The smug bastard. Cocky, smug, horny bastard.

I could have said yes—ended it. But I didn’t. “No. In fact, I think you’re making yourself uncomfortable.” I looked pointedly at his cock, which was now straining desperately against his pants. A shiver of lust tickled down my spine.

He glanced down and shrugged a shoulder. “It’s been three days and I’m already used to it with you.” He moved his hand so he could take a lock of my hair. He gently twirled it between his fingers and fixed his eyes on mine. “I don’t dance downstairs often,” he said, changing the subject. “But I am tonight. It’s what I do for fun.”

He dropped my hair and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. He guided my face toward his, pulling me so close that I put a hand out to steady myself, but it landed on his thigh, which immediately tightened beneath my touch. I drew in a sharp breath as our faces came so close that I thought he’d kiss me again.

“And every time I have to touch another woman,” he whispered, “and they run their hands over my body and revel in the fact that my cock is hard, they’ll be wrong when they think it’s for them.”

My lips parted when his fingers twitched against my neck. He was going to kiss me—I knew it. Why else was he so close, unless to torture me? His touch was already burning my skin, constricting my lungs. I couldn’t breathe easily, and oh god, he—

“I’m going to make coffee. Do you want one?” he asked, letting me go and standing up. He adjusted his pants and raised an eyebrow in question, walking backward toward the door.