She turned on her bare foot and strutted back toward the house, disappearing through the back door with a sexy swish of ass.
Don’t you dare follow her, asshole.
With determination he didn’t know he possessed, Andrew continued working on the plantar—for a whopping two minutes. But try as he might, there was no way to continue assembling the stones when he knew she was inside waiting for him. Wanting his presence. It was like denying the most basic part of himself. Go to her. Do what she needs.
In the end, God himself couldn’t have stopped Andrew from following her inside, although he was determined not to break the promise he’d made. No touching.
He’d soon regret making that vow more than he could have imagined.
*
Jiya’s shameless behavior was all Andrew’s fault.
She’d invited him over because she needed to be around him. Needed to spend time with this man she’d seen far too little of lately. And yes, she’d wanted to explore this dynamic they’d unearthed on the beach and furthered that night in his bedroom. Something had sparked inside her. Something wicked. Not exactly a dominant side. More like an ultra-feminine second skin that melted over her like hot wax and never hardened.
Andrew liked her sitting pretty and watching him work.
He liked being told what to do in bed.
This man who she’d always assumed did things for her to be nice, because they were friends…it actually pleased him to be her servant. He loved doing for her. Loved her taking the liberty of telling him what she wanted. Of him. From him.
There was only one other thing that made Jiya feel this powerful and free—flying.
Andrew was like flying. Being behind the wheel of an airplane was a lot like how she felt now, sitting on the edge of her bed and slipping off her panties. In control. Free. A little impulsive and a lot optimistic. Aware of her flesh and bones and expanding lungs. The major difference being an airplane didn’t turn her on as much as a sweaty, shirtless Andrew in clinging mesh shorts.
Jiya let her head tilt back, felt the cool air conditioner dry the perspiration on her neck. She ran her fingertips down the column of her throat, continuing down to the open neckline of her dress. Her nipples puckered before she even reached them and her thighs widened, her hips shifting on the bed. In her head, thoughts of Andrew revolved. His back muscles flexing in the sunlight, his hot eyes stealing over her body from beneath the brim of his hat. That thick ridge between his legs that seemed to grow out of love for laboring. Laboring for her. She’d asked him to do something, a job, and he’d gotten huge and hard from it.
If she was a total jerk, she would break him now. She would beg him to forget his rule and make love to her. He’d have zero chance of staying in control. That knowledge in itself was so empowering, Jiya had to palm her breasts and squeeze them, a whimper escaping her mouth. Okay. Okay, she craved control. No denying that part of herself now.
She didn’t have to, either. She couldn’t, without denying Andrew what he needed.
What they both needed.
That permission was drugging and beautiful, but could she explore this newfound side of herself without forcing Andrew to do something that would make him feel guilt? Because that was the last thing she wanted. She wanted only good between them. Only love.
Andrew’s footsteps creaked along the hallway floor and Jiya rushed to compose herself. As much as was possible. She fanned her hot face and kicked her panties under the bed. Crossed her legs for good measure.
“Hey,” he said from the doorway, sounding like he’d swallowed a handful of sand. His gaze gobbled up her bare legs, her hips, meandering higher before focusing on her face. His jaw flexed. “I’m almost finished out there. Are you sure you don’t want me to keep at it?”
It was a dangerous game Jiya played, but she had a building urge inside her to give them relief. Something they both needed. She just had to do it without ruining the trust between them—no, she treasured their confidence in each other far too much.
But they were both in physical pain and she longed to end it. Longed to feel close to him in the way she’d felt in his bedroom. On the beach. It almost felt like a responsibility.
“I, um…” She pushed her hair back and watched his eyes go molten on her very nearly exposed breasts. “I need some pictures hung up.” Jiya gestured to the hammer and nails on her bedside table. Beside the nightstand, two framed prints leaned against the wall. One that displayed pillared architecture, “The Adalaj Stepwell, Gujarat” inscribed along the bottom. She watched him study the landmark that stood so far away, in the Indian state where she’d been born but could still picture in her mind’s eye. The other print was a black and white pencil illustration of an airplane flying sideways between two snowy-peaked mountains.