She rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like you don’t have anything to look forward in your life.”
“I have baggage. A lot of it.”
“Maisie isn’t baggage.”
“I wasn’t talking about Maisie. She’s the best thing in my life. My life is hers now. Totally and completely. I have nothing to offer a woman. You deserve to have a man who can give you all of himself. Especially the first time.”
She frowned. “So you’ve given up on ever finding love again?”
We had this discussion the other day. I thought I’d been clear on my thoughts of ever loving again.
“I’ve had step-parents.” The image of my last step-father whipping off his belt to use it on me flashed in my head. “I won’t put Maisie through that. And I certainly don’t want my heart stomped on again.”
At first, her expression suggested she understood or empathized, but then she shook her head in annoyance. “How come men are able to have sex because it’s enjoyable, but for a woman it needs to be some sort of fairy tale?”
“It doesn’t. But a woman who has waited as long as you, usually does so for a reason.” There was no way she’d saved herself for me. Or if she had, it was because she saw me a lot. I was convenient. Clearly, she hadn’t been around other men very often. If she had, she’d have found someone else more worthy. Someone who would give her the time and attention she deserved.
“You’ve had experience in this, have you?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Actually, no. But having gotten to know you over the last year, I can see you’re not an impulsive woman. Everything you do is with a plan. Men, on the other hand, tend to be a slave to urges. It’s like an itch.”
“You don’t think women have urges?”
“Yes. But they’re also able to control them. As you clearly do.”
She’d leaned forward, and for a moment I was held captive by her sweet scent. But then she shifted back and away, and her eyes looked down.
“I’ve hurt your feelings,” I said, hating that I was having to reject and hurt her.
“It’s not your fault that you don’t find me attractive.”
What? “I never said that.” It wasn’t true. I found her wildly attractive.
She pursed her lips in annoyance. “You just said men can’t control their urges. If that’s true, it means you have no … urge around me.”
I stared at her as I battled within myself on whether to show her just how attractive she was to me.
“I have an urge,” I admitted.
“Don’t patronize me,” she said with the heat of anger.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
Again, a tug-of-war waged in my brain. I hated the idea that she thought I was humoring her. I wanted her to know that what I was saying was true. I was about to come in my pants I was so turned on by her. Knowing I shouldn’t do anything, I took her hand and pressed it over my aching dick.
I let out a groan as she slid her fingers around it like she was gauging its girth, then ran her hand along the length.
I hissed a breath, working to keep from coming then and there. I wasn’t going to follow through. I just wanted her to know she affected me. “See? Urge.”
She looked into my eyes. In hers, I saw desire.
“I want to see you,” she said, breathlessly.
“Tessa …”
She squeezed my dick hard, making me gasp. “I’m not asking for something you can’t give.”