Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I’m far too close to the fireplace. Its dancing blue flames mesmerize me to the point where I haven’t realized how warm I am until the deep voice speaks from behind me.
"Damon said you have a new journal."
Even the physical heat surrounding me pales in comparison to what he does to me. Every inch of me is too hot when I lay eyes on him. More than likely it’s because his gaze rests on me.
“Did you write anything down today?”
How can he ask something so uninteresting when all I can imagine is picking up where we left off last night, with our hands searching for something to hold us steady and daring to lift my lips to his?
Lying on the hard herringbone floor with a pool of fabric at my feet and two of the cushions from the sofa, one for my head and the other supporting my shoulder, I prop myself up off the floor to stare up at him.
Zander towers over me, a dominating air surrounding him that’s only shown whispers of itself before.
“I wrote a few things.” I answer him out of respect once the weight of what he’s asked me sinks in fully. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Zander takes a step forward, his jeans rustling and when he takes a place next to me on the floor, I notice he’s taken his shoes off. His bare feet match the untamed man he is. Sitting cross-legged, and wearing a dark gray Henley, everything feels different between us. There’s no melody to dance to any longer. No notes to hide behind. I search his hazel eyes and find the fire dancing in the reflection.
“You don’t want to talk about what you wrote? Or you don’t want to talk about anything?” he questions so casually with an innocent expression on his handsome face, one would think his inquiry didn’t carry the weight of the world with it. The soothing crackle of the fire is the only distraction between us when I scoot forward and readjust some, sitting on my ass with my feet planted on the floor and bringing my knees into my chest.
“I think I could talk today, I just have boundaries.”
“Boundaries?” Zander repeats the single word and somehow it sounds sinful on his lips. All the tension evaporates, leaving behind a magnetic pull that I can’t resist. “We could discuss boundaries.” If I’m not mistaken, at his lips is the hint of a smirk, but he holds it back. “Is that what you want to talk about today? Boundaries?”
I search his expression for the answer to my unspoken thought: What type of boundaries are you referring to?
The devilish smirk he’d been trying to hide breaks through. And I find myself wearing a matching simper.
As I rise from the floor, eager to get away from the fire and what is now nearly stifling heat, I contemplate teasing him. Calling him out for the fact that this feels very much like flirting and significantly less like counseling. Just as the words are ready to slip from my lips, Zander stands alongside me, his right hand taking mine and his left bracing my elbow to help me rise.
I’ve had many social interactions, and I’ve learned a few important details about seemingly innocent touches. When a person makes contact with you, whether a hand on an elbow or a friendly hug, the longer the contact lingers, the more they want to fuck you. A quick hug and a hand releasing into the air once the connection begins to break, rather than slipping down the small of your back, is very good evidence there’s no sexual chemistry.
Which is not at all what happens right now.
The way Zander trails his fingertips along my forearm and then down my torso, splaying his hand against the small of my back as I stand, tells me everything I want to know. My wild heart beats rapidly. I’m not sure if it’s in protest, or if it’s simply come back to life, but for a moment, I’m caught. Trapped and unable to think of anything other than my heart’s existence.
Concern mars Zander’s face as he peers down at me, and I struggle to remember what we were even talking about. “Did I already take it too far?”
“Not at all.” My lower lip slips between my teeth as I struggle with whether or not I should add, I don’t believe you’ve gone far enough. I keep the thought to myself and turn my back to him to make my way to the sofa. “I just thought we should be comfortable for our session.”
There’s an undeniable electricity between the two of us. Again, I’m reminded of that dance I felt the first morning that we were alone together. I take one corner of the sofa, and Zander chooses a chair across the room, the one farthest away.