Page 39 of August

It was a lose-lose.

Or maybe a win-win.

Desire pooled low in her abdomen. The need for him to touch her again, to bring her to another climax was unbearable. She could have gotten herself off, but the idea hadn’t appealed to her at all. Not when she could have August’s steady hands on her flesh, his slick mouth on her skin, and his thick girth buried deep inside her walls.

She went to the door, and her hand shook as she touched the handle. Never in her life had she made the first move with a man. Even before with August, she hadn’t initiated sex. He’d always wanted it. Heard her telepathically before she could express her needs.

Her thoughts spun and pressure weighed on her chest. The precarious circumstances of their relationship made everything more difficult.

Would he refuse? Tell her to go to hell?

Steeling her courage, she banished her insecurities and sent a prayer for strength skyward. If he told her to take a hike, she might lose her mind.

Shafts of light stretched into long rectangles across the floor, cutting through the darkness. She tiptoed the three paces to his door and paused. Her heart beat wildly and panic made her want to turn and run back to bed, but she’d surely make noise and wake him. Which would only make her look ridiculous.

Inhaling a breath of thick air, she eased open his door. A tiny squeak announced her intrusion. Her eyes adjusted to the room. The large windows were free of curtains, allowing moonlight to illuminate the space.

August propped himself up on an elbow. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gravelly, not sleepy.

She stood frozen like a mannequin, probably looking like a damn ghost in the pale-pink pajama pants and white tank top. Uncertainty plucked at her bravery. The need to turn away before she made a fool of herself gripped her muscles. But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

All she could do was stand there, waiting for words and courage that probably wouldn’t come.

August tossed back the covers and swung his legs over the bed. He stood, and she instantly felt tiny. He wore only black briefs.

“What’s the matter?” he demanded. At some point while she’d been staring at his ripped stomach, he’d grabbed a gun.

Oh, great. Here he was on red alert and she just wanted to get laid.

“Gigi,” he pressed. “Do you need something?”

She gulped down all the self-doubt she could swallow, though some of its sandy texture clung to her mouth. Without a word, she took two steps, moving herself into August’s personal space. His body seemed to vibrate. His free arm flexed as if fighting the urge to touch her.

Her heartbeat pulsed beneath her skin. The faint scent of his heady lime soap filled the air, mixing with his own masculine aroma of spice and sweat. Her pulse jumped against her neck. She might go into cardiac arrest if she didn’t do something now.

“You.” The simple syllable drifted from her lips on a light breath of desperation. She needed to grab him. To kiss him. To wrap her arms around him and tell him about all the pent-up feelings she’d never gotten over. But she couldn’t do anything but wait for his reaction.

One sign. That’s all she needed.

Moonlight touched August’s face. The hard planes of his cheeks clenched. The stubble on his jaw shadowed his mouth.

Doubt blossomed in her chest, swelling quickly to moisten her eyes. Had she made a mistake?

He blinked, and his free hand bunched. “What exactly do you need from me, Georgia?” The words were like scalding water on a sheet of ice. Not harsh, but... hesitant.

She took another step toward him. The heat from his torso touched her bare arms. Carefully, she lifted her hand and brushed her fingers across the top of his shoulder, over his collarbone, and down his sternum.

His muscles bunched, but he didn’t return the touch.

“Gigi,” he said. This time his voice hitched with barely tethered self-control.

“I want you, August.” She brought her hand to his jaw and stroked the stubble there. “I want you to kiss me, but not like you did in the elevator. I want all of you this time. No holding back. No teasing. Just... us together.”

The gentle clink of metal to wood echoed in the room as he placed the gun on the nightstand. His fingers circled her wrist, but he didn’t move her hand away.

His fiery gaze held her eyes, not wavering. His pulse raced beneath the heel of her palm.

She had to ask. Had to hear it from his own lips. “Do you want me, August?”

---