3
Goldie
He sees my eyes flicker to the front door and he sighs.
“I can leave if you want me to, sweetheart. But I won’t hit the end of the block before I turn around and come back.”
“W-why?” Some weird excitement makes my voice shake.
“Because it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything as gorgeous as you. And now I’ve seen you, looked into those pretty eyes and felt how fucking soft your skin is, not even a nuclear catastrophe can keep me away.”
Oh crap. Those words… I fight another shudder and shake my head. “I…I thought you were here for my Dad?”
His jaw tightens and his eyes go bleak for a moment before he snaps out of it. “I was. I am. And I’ll get to him eventually when he returns. I’ve waited long enough. A couple more days won’t make a difference. But this…”
He takes a deep breath and his massive chest moves in a way that holds all my attention before his words refocus me again.
“You’re a gem I never expected to find. And only a goddamn fool throws an opportunity like this away.” He surges forward again; one arm braces the wall above my head and he fills every corner of my vision. All without touching me. “You have two options, honey. You can tell me to leave or you can put those hands down so I can take a proper look at what’s mine.”
My belly flutters like a thousand hummingbirds are trying to escape. “Y-yours?”
“Mine,” he echoes, his eyes darkening as he leans even closer into the crook of my neck, takes a long, greedy sniff. “Jesus, you smell amazing.”
He swallows hard and I sense movement below. I look down to see him adjusting himself through his jeans, a tight grimace stretching across his face.
When his hand drops, I gasp. The bulge behind his fly has grown even bigger. Terrifyingly so.
I’ve touched myself in the shower, have even explored myself a little under the covers. During my most daring explorations, my middle finger could barely fit the snug channel.
What he’s packing is eye-watering, crazy big.
“Last chance, honey.” His voice is a strained mess, the corded muscles in his neck standing out. He’s hanging on by a thread and the thought that I’m responsible for his shredding control is a heady feeling for a girl who’s been overlooked and felt powerless her whole life. “Please,” he rasps heatedly into my ear.
I feel as if I’m outside of myself looking down.
I see us, my tiny five-five frame and my thigh-skimming pink tee withNope, Not Todayemblazoned across the front, and my sleep-tousled blonde hair tumbling over my face and shoulders.
And I see him, the gorgeous, disgruntled giant with thick muscles to spare, leaning over me, barely restrained, his hot eyes riveted to my body, demanding wicked things I’m dying to give him.
His breath shudders out of him when I drop my hands to dangle near my hips. I don’t need to look down to feel the pebble-hard buds of my nips peeking through my shirt.
They’re alarmingly erect and sensitive.
Hell, every inch of my body is burning under the blaze of his gaze.
I glance up at him and his lips are parted, his breathing coming out in pants as he eyes my boobs. A curious need twists through me and I squirm.
He groans, then reaches up slowly.
As if he doesn’t want to spook me.
First, he drags the hem of my shirt down so the material is strained over my chest, blatantly outlining my dark pink nipples.
Then in a flash of movement, the arm on the wall drops and he captures my nape in one big hand, holding me still as he falls onto his knees.
I gasp, first at the action, and then because, even on his knees, his head reaches my chest and I’m awed all over again by how big he is.
The hand gripping my tee bunches and he darts forward and captures my right nipple between his lips.