“I am not. It’s insulting for you to say so,” I bristled. “You went through hell. Everyone in that group went through their own kind of hell. Don’t think that diminishes their worth or yours. I admire your courage and resilience and—”
“I don’t want you to admire me, Layla, I want your hands on me. So if I’m not your patient, maybe you can help me off the clock. With some sexual healing,” he said.
I stalked away appalled that he’d said that. I was more disgusted that my body flared in response to it. I hurried across the muddy ruts out to the parking lot, knowing that he was following me. I had to get in my car and drive off before he caught me. God knows what I’d do if he grabbed my arm. Flustered, I broke into a run and dashed to my car, trying to get it unlocked. Struggling with the door, I cussed and dropped my keys.
He was on me then, picking up my keys and handing them to me, “These aren’t going to work.”
“Why not? They’re my keys!” I said indignantly, trying to back away from him.
“Yeah, but that’s my truck you’re trying to drive off in. The keys are in it if you want to take a joyride,” he said.
I whipped around to look at the vehicle, and sure enough, it was a three-quarter ton work truck, not my Honda Civic. I must have been really distracted to confuse the two.
“I have no objection if you want to climb in my cab,” he said suggestively. I should have thought he was a sleaze for saying so. I think the difference wasn’t his word choice so much as how much I wanted his cock in me right then.
I tried to sort out my brain and say something and get out of this, but he was there, his body, hulking, casting a shadow over mine. His hand braced on the truck window beside my head, backing me up into it. I pressed myself against the fiberglass door, the heat it absorbed from being in the sun all day too hot through my clothes. I squirmed, and he took my hand again.
He laid my hand on his arm, “See, this isn’t where you touched me,” he said, moving it up to his shoulder. “This is. Yeah, right there,” he said, shutting his eyes for an instant as if it felt so good he was overcome.
I held up my other hand, offered him my wrist, “This is where you kissed me.”
“That isn’t the only place I want to kiss you, Layla. You have to know that,” he said it almost brokenly.
“Where?” I whispered, breathless.
“Everywhere. Don’t make me say it. You know,” he said.
I felt the slickness between my legs in response. The air was so thick between us. I felt lightheaded, as if I’d pass out if he didn’t kiss me. “Is this the only place you wanted to touch me?” he said.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “it isn’t.”
“Where?” it was his turn to ask.
I lifted my hand to his face, to the rough stubble along his jaw that made me part my lips hungrily. I rubbed my thumb across his lips, felt the heat of his breath fan across the pad of my thumb. I found myself breathing in and out in sync with him, everything around me narrowing to one point, to our matched breathing and his hand on my wrist and my fingers splayed along his jaw. The spikes of stubble on his face dug into my skin, sharp yet somehow welcome.
For a tense moment, we stood there as if locked in place, touching but not kissing, hands still as if soaking up the heat of one another. It felt like stepping into the warm sunlight from chilly shade in spring. I took a deep breath, suspecting I’d need it. I flicked my gaze up to meet his eyes, and his intensity rocked me back on my heels. I was glad to be up against the truck for support. I might have staggered backward from the impact of that look, heavy with sexuality and anticipation.
Waiting hungrily for his kiss, I seemed suspended, unable to form words or to break the heated gaze between us. Tyler took my wrist, the one encircled by his big fingers, and lifted it to his mouth, kissed it softly. My eyes dropped shut of their own accord, wanting to block out every other sense and concentrate on his touch.
“Does closing your eyes make it better? Or is that only with pie?” he said, his voice teasing. I smirked at him.
Tyler pressed closer to me, flattening me against the side of his truck. I could feel every hard angle and every muscle of his body through his worn jeans. His knee was between my legs and his hand touching my throat, tipping my chin up. Then he was kissing me. It didn’t start tentatively with a brush of lips, any shy hello. All at once, Tyler was everywhere and everything, blocking out any thought or perception beyond his body on mine. His mouth worked mine expertly, parting my lips, kissing me passionately until I found myself sucking his tongue, holding on to his shoulders, holding my own, kissing him back as good as he gave it.