Page 6 of Uncharted Desires
I try to say something. To whom? I don’t know. It’s not like he’d be able to hear me.
And finally, with the last drop of blood supplying my brain, I manage to point my thumb over my shoulder as if letting him know I’m getting the fuck out of here.
And then he makes a scoffing face and rolls his eyes.
What the fuck is his problem?
My brows furrow, and my jaw clenches when he takes a few steps in my direction, the bulge in his pants more apparent now that his palm does not cover it.
Do not look. Do not look.
He walks past the few people separating us, and the second he stops in front of me, I instinctively take a step back. I hate myself for it.
“What’s up, golden boy?” His voice is condescending. Jesus, I want to punch him.
“It’s—” I clear my throat. “It’s getting late. I should go.” I wish my tone had more confidence than it does.
He scoffs out loud this time. “Figures.”
My muscles tense up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sawyer shrugs one shoulder and takes another step forward. I backtrack even more. “It just means you’re a pussy, but that’s hardly news.”
And that’s about as much of Sawyer as I can take. I reach up and push his shoulder. He barely flinches, but when he grabs my wrist, all kinds of shivers run through my body.
“Careful,” he says.
I grit my teeth. “Let go of me.”
He grips my wrist for a few seconds longer before releasing it. “Pretty sure it’s you who should let go.”
“What the fuck is your problem, man?”
“Me? I don’t have a problem. It’s you who can’t relax for a split second, Mr. Blake Uptight. Never letting himself enjoy, even for a moment.”
“I’m not enjoyingthis!” I say way too loud, causing heads to turn. Shit.
“Oh, really?” He takes a step forward, then another, causing me to shuffle backward, bumping against people on my way. “Cause your body says a different story. For the first time tonight. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
I open my mouth and close it again, not really sure how to answer. I see how he mightthinkhe has a point. But he doesn’t.
“Just tell me one thing,” he continues. My back hits the wall. There’s nowhere left to go. “Would you be equally chicken shit if it were anyone else?”
He jerks his head toward the guys we’ve been watching.
“That’s… It’s… I’m not into men.” There. That should do it.
Sawyer's mouth curls into that condescending smile I hate, and he looks at the ceiling before placing one palm on the wall next to my head, leaning in and looking me straight in the eye. “And what’s the fucking difference?”
My eyes widen, and I try to ignore the scent of his aftershave intruding on my senses. “It’s just different,” I say, my voice small.
He moves his head so that his mouth is next to my ear, his whole body dangerously close to mine. “You sure about that?”
His hot breath ghosts my earlobe, and it’s like my whole body’s on fire. I nod.
"Well, as long as you're sure."
He backs away but rests his forearm on the wall next to my head and turns his body away, taking his heat with him. His eyes land on the guys giving a show, following every one of their movements, and when his other hand drops down to press against his zipper, I have to look away. Sometimes, he's too much to handle.
