Page 54 of Everything She Wanted

He then brings his fingers to the underside of my wrist.

“It’s acupressure. There’s this one too, for stress relief.”

I close my eyes for a moment and sink into the sensation of his strong fingers on my delicate skin.

This touch.

His touch.

I want it to consume me.

I remember how his hands felt on my thigh, my back, and under my top, sacred yet electrifying. How they were at first light and gentle, and then more desperate, clinging to my skin and pulling me closer. I remember how delicious his lips felt on mine as he alternated between soft caresses and sensual strokes of his tongue, like he wouldn’t be satisfied until he tasted and touched every part of me. Then, how his body felt pressed into me at the club. Strong, solid, unyielding.

He’s pulling away from me, and I’m desperate to keep him close, because if he’s going to be my downfall, then I will be his.

I pull his hand into my lap, and his fingers pause. I gaze up at him. I put my fingers on the pressure point on his hand, softly massaging it, while my long nails scrape just slightly across his skin. He leans back like I’m touching him somewhere else entirely.

“Is this how you do it?” My voice is soft and laced with desire.

He takes a deep breath before responding with fire in his eyes.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Satisfied that my touch is getting to him, I get braver. I unbutton his cuffed sleeve, and pull it up to expose his wrist, and place my fingers on the pressure point there, circling it gently just like he did for me.

He brings his other hand to tug at his collar, even though there’s a cool breeze coming through the front windows.

I let my fingertips linger on his pulse, feeling the beat grow stronger and fiercer with every second that passes.

I wet my lips and reach further up his arm, in a barely-there caress, and he watches my every move. There’s so much more that I want to do to him as he watches, but I won’t, I can’t—but I want to. So desperately.

He regains his composure just slightly as he looks at me, but then his eyes rove over my mouth, my neck, my collarbone, before lifting to meet my eyes again. He inches closer, and I hold my breath.

I notice a few office types walk by from the corner of my eye, and suddenly I’m self-conscious about what this may look like. I remember that this bar isn’t far from work, and anyone could see us.

Still, I button up his cuff slowly and place his hand in the little bit of empty space on the seat between us. Too caught up in whatever is happening to stop just yet.

I wish we were alone somewhere private, where I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing us. Where I didn’t have to hold back. I’m losing control fast, and I force myself to work through the fog of longing and the buzz of alcohol.

I have to stop this.

“Thank you for showing me that. My head feels better,” I say softly.

He continues to look at me, and I force myself to look away.

I won’t think about dragging my manicured nails down his chest, and I won’t look at my wrist and imagine how his fingers just felt on it and how they would feel elsewhere. I won’t inhale his scent even as it presses in on me, calling me into dark, forbidden waters. I won’t do this to myself, not anymore, but I won’t let him forget me that easily either.

He stares at me like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t.

I feel eyes on me and scan the room, zeroing in on a guy blatantly staring at me from the bar. It takes only a moment for me to register who it is.

It’s Dev, Shaan’s friend and aggravating roommate.

Shit.

My fake calm and cool composure fly out the window, and panic bursts into my chest.

He smiles and lifts his glass to toast to me, and I try not to let my expression show my escalating panic.