He’s still on his knees in front of me, looking up with that gorgeous face, making me wonder why in the world I ever said no to this man.
Fuck.
I’ve truly lost it this time.
“I don’t understand why it matters if I’m a virgin or not,” I say, still embarrassed.
“Your first time should not be like that,” he says, and he gets up and walks off to the bathroom again with that ointment.
But damn, my body is still overheating, and I don’t know how to shut it off.
When he comes back, I don’t know how to act.
Especially not because he’s still sporting that massive boner.
It just won’t let up.
And that makes me wonder if it hurts him not to take me like he wants to.
I swallow down the nerves as he sits down on a chair near the table and looks at me. “Does it hurt?”
“What?”
I point at his hard-on, which makes me want to hide again.
“I’ve grown used to it.”
Used to it? “What do you mean?”
He stares at me. “It’s happened every night for three years.”
My pupils dilate. “Every night?”
“Every night … when I dreamed of you.”
Fuck.
Because of me?
No, maybe this is just a freak symptom of the accident and his trauma. “Maybe the accident made you more—”
“No,” he interrupts, still staring at me as if he wants to eat me up and then some. “Even before then. I remember the way I felt. The same way I still feel every single day of my life.”
I feel as though someone just marked my pussy like a goddamn tattoo that says “mine.”
Not once did he show me this kind of obsession when we were still young.
“But you never told me anything like this back when we were still living with our parents.”
“Would you have believed me if I did?” He raises his brow.
I lower my eyes, almost feeling ashamed of myself.
He gets up from the chair and comes closer again, kneeling in front of me so I can’t look away. “I have never, ever wanted for anything more.”
Does he mean my body?
Or … more?