Page 112 of Love Sick

I flinch. God, Julian’s never going to touch me now. I cover my face with my hands.

I can’t believe I just told Julian Santini that I’m bad in bed.

“Can you forget I said that?” I ask behind my hands.

“No.”

Of course not. He’s always been difficult that way, my Julian.

A painful silence passes before he draws an audible breath. “Is that why you—”

“It’s not a big deal. That was a long time ago. He—he doesn’t—like—matter, or anything. I don’t even care.” I peek out from behind my hands to find a new tension in the lines beside his mouth.

“Clearly you do.”

“That’s not—Julian—”

“You’re not cold.” His voice is deeper and a new intensity burns in his dark eyes.

My hands fall away. “What?”

He pushes off the stove. “You—” he points at my chest “—are not cold.”

“You don’t know—”

His laugh cuts me off. “I’ve had you in my arms, Grace.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t?” A wicked smile dawns over his face. “Do you need me to prove it?”

Yes.

He moves until he’s standing before me. Those long fingers perch on the granite on either side of my hips. A pulse stirs in my lower abdomen.

“H-How would you prove it?” I ask.

His gifted hands land on my bare knees, a featherlight touch that forks lightning through my nervous system, sweet and drugging like spiked honey. “I can think of dozens of ways I’d like to, but I need you to say yes first.”

My breath vanishes. Just…disappears. And my heartbeat slams against the surface of my skin, nearly painful in the thinnest areas—my wrists and temples, my throat, between my legs.

His dark eyes grow feverish, unblinking, and his fingers connect directly to pleasure centers in my brain. Every light brush shivers down my legs. His skin caresses mine, right at the hem of my dress, back and forth.

I’m empty. Wanting. My body clenches on nothing.

Be brave, Grace. Let him touch you.

His fingers skim around my closed knees, down the sides of my calves, and every hair on my body stands at attention. A tiny whimper escapes my throat.

His eyebrow perks. “Is that a yes?”

I give myself three seconds to reconsider, but ultimately surrender to his irresistible smile with a nod. His clever hands slide between my knees and press them wide open.

I let him do it.

I’m spread for him, and instead of awkwardness or anxiety, all I can find inside is a surging desire to open wider, show him more, make him ache like I do.

“Let’s start here.” He brushes his knuckles on the inside of my thighs, raising my dress. “Warm skin. Nothing cold there.” One hand leaves my leg to press a thumb against my lower lip. “You’re staring at me like you want this. That’s not cold, either.”

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