Page 44 of Out on a Limb
His lips were so close to mine. Close enough that if I responded they would touch.
And I wanted to respond.
With something snarky. Something aggressive. Something like,fuck around and find out.
Something like,you wouldn’t hate it as much as you think you would.
Instead I just sat there. Held in place by the intensity in his eyes.
Because right now I was hoping I’d find out what Andrew was capable of, and after five minutes alone with him I was highly suspicious it might kill me.
But what a way to go.
The hand under my jaw shifted, sliding back down, over my collar bone and along my sternum. This time his eyes followed, lingering on the press of my nipples against the worn fabric of his shirt.
His hands slowly eased from my body and he leaned away. “You need to eat.”
I didn’t want to eat.
I mean.
I didn’t mind if he did.
But at this point I was positive that wasn’t an option available to me.
I huffed out a long sigh. “Fine.”
Andrew went to my refrigerator and pulled open the door. “Wow.”
“What?”
He glanced my way, one brow lifted. “That’s a lot of pickles.”
I lifted one brow back. “I like a good pickle.”
Andrew stared at me a second. “Hmph.”
He turned back to the fridge, digging out a few items before going to line them down the counter next to the cooktop situated on the large island. Then he went to the pantry and came back with a box of fettuccine.
The kitchen was my favorite room in the house, the whole reason I’d picked it out from the options offered. I loved to cook.
Loved to eat.
Loved being eaten.
“Ugh.” I let my head drop back against the top rung of the chair he’d propped me into.
“Not feeling good?” Andrew popped the lid off the container of grilled chicken I kept on hand for speedy meals.
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine.
My buzz was wearing off and that was causing all sorts of problems.
Every inch of me was starting to hurt. My thighs. My hands. My head.
My poor nipples.
I pulled out the neckline of Andrew’s t-shirt to peek down at them.
