“That’s our cue to leave.” Tooth mockingly salutes Sawyer before both him and Jericho fist bump him and hop off the ring to hit the showers, leaving us effectively alone.
“I didn’t know you were into that kind of kinky shit.” Sawyer leans on the ropes over me, taking the towel I offer to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. He’s gorgeous, standing there at complete ease, muscles gleaning and tats rippling as he dabs at them, his signature troublemaker grin igniting a flickering flame at the pit of my stomach.
Part of me wishes I were immune to him, that he didn’t offer such sweet temptation that I should know better than to want. But I can’t pretend to be unaffected, not when I’ve all but admitted to myself that I not only need him around, Iwanthim around.
“If you knew the kinky shit I’m really into…” I trail off with a grin, letting him fill the gaps for himself. “I’m going to hit the showers, and then I need to get some work done.”
“Want company?” From his expression, I know he’s talking about working together, which would be amazing. But what kind of person would I be if I passed up on this golden opportunity to tease him?
“In the shower? Yeah, sure, why not.” I can’t help but laugh at his mortified expression when he realizes it really did sound like that’s what he was offering.
“That’s not what I meant.” He smiles and shakes his head. “You and your smart mouth.”
“I mean, youdidslay the dragons. Pampered princess protocol dictates I’m supposed to kiss you.”
Sawyer’s eyes drop to my lips, and he pushes himself off the ropes before stepping between them and jumping down. He turns to face me, and my pulse jumps when I’m confronted with the darkened blue of his eyes.
With a swift stride, he’s caging me between his arms with my back against the raised platform. We stand there breathless, salty beads of sweat rolling down Sawyer’s diamond-cut chest and abs, drawing my gaze down, down, down. I imagine how good his skin would taste as I follow the trail with my tongue. I’d trace the tribal wolf howling at the moon inked over his left peck, nipping at his abs on my way to the waistband of his boxer shorts.
The traitorous muscle flicks out to lick over the seam of my upper lip before I lift my gaze to meet the hunger in his eyes.
“I can’t kiss you, Maddie,” he whispers in that same deepened voice that promised to see me to the other side of this, the sound licking heat up my spine.
“But you want to?” I ask with as much teasing intent as I manage to muster, beating down the hope bubbling into my words.
Sawyer smiles, his knuckles gliding up my arm to my cheek, fingers fanning out when his hand returns to my neck, then slides to my nape before his soft touch firms. He pulls me to him, drawing a sharp gasp, his night-sky blues swirling with desire at the sound.
His jaw is locked in a tense tick, the war painfully visible on his rugged face.
“Do it,” I issue the dare.Please. I don’t have the courage to vocalize the plea.
“I can’t kiss you,” he repeats with a tense jaw, hand dropping to his side as he turns and heads for the locker room, leaving me worked up and panting, with a hairline fracture in my heart.
It’s been four days since the gym incident. Sawyer’s been giving me tips and a few impromptu lessons, but we haven’t gone back there. I doubt we ever will. Instead, we spend our days in my apartment, working on the files and chasing down dead-end leads.
He’s fully reinstated robo-tough-guy, but it’s too little too late for me. The lines are already too blurred for comfort. The way Sawyer plays this game of pretend makes it all too tempting to fantasize that it’s real, which is cruel because, in just nine days, I’ve developed a thirst for his protective warmth and that night-sky gaze undressing me slowly.
The ache in my chest that seems to be sated only by that part of him that isn’t entirely genuine grows stronger every day, more difficult to resist.
I needed some air, some time away from sitting with him in closed, personal spaces. So, after much prompting on my end, we left the confinement of four walls, and Sawyer took me to this adorable Italian bistro tucked away in a place only the locals seem to know how to find.
I’m digging into my tagliatelle ai fungi, while Sawyer slowly chews on his risotto alla Milanese. Our fingers brush every now and again when we both reach for the shared entree of Arancini balls at the same time.
There’s something electrifying between us tonight. After spending countless hours alone in my apartment, a few feet away from my bed, being outside in public shouldn’t feel so intense.
Sure, I’ve taken to wearing more “pampered princess” clothes, as he calls them, since his aloof behavior is getting on my last nerve. And, also, because it sometimes draws out that look he got when I asked him if he’d like to choose my lingerie as well. It’s so hot how that troublemaker side of his justignitessometimes. The way he can’t seem to resist messing with me, picking out that hot-pink lacy thong and holding it up as if envisioning how it would look on me, a smile quirking the corner of his lips.
A week later, and I still can’t stop replaying that moment.
Come to think about it, me wearing that specific lingerie set is probably a big factor in the air around me being charged, even though I’m firmly sticking to my jeans only rule when we go out.
If I didn’t have a perverse need to prove I’m better at keeping the distance than he is, I would have been all over this sinfully sexy man days ago.
“How’s the side project going?” he asks casually, which I’m guessing is more to fill the silence than anything. He looks up when the silence lingers, and my answer doesn’t come.
“Um, okay.” I try to sound as casual as him and fail miserably. “I’m almost done.”
Sawyer’s brow creases. He inspects me more closely, and I start to panic under his silent interrogation.