He walked over to the stereo, lowered the volume, then faced her again, grabbing a rag from the counter without breaking eye contact. He started cleaning off his hands, and they stood there in silence, the air suddenly thick as it surrounded her. She stared at his hands as he cleaned the grease from them, his palms big and wide, his fingers long and calloused. She imagined him touching her with those masculine hands, the roughness of them along her smooth skin, the way she’d gasp and beg for more.
After clearing her throat, because this moment seemed very… intimate for some reason, she started running her fingers over the now empty glass. Condensation formed on the outside, and she traced her fingers over the droplets.
The front end of her car where the impact happened was still beat to hell, but she knew nothing about cars, so maybe it was just superficial?
“How's it going?” She pointed to the car as if he wouldn't know what she was talking about, and could feel her face heat even more.
God, could I make this even more weird?
The sound of him moving closer had Hannah looking at him. Her eyes widened when she realized he was close, so close she smelled the combination of cedar, motor oil, clean sweat, and something that was wholly unique to Scars.
She grew wetter, her body pliant, as if it knew what it wanted and that was standing right in front of her in all its male glory.
Hannah tried not to take notice of the wide expanse of chest right in front of her, or how his shirt stretched across his powerful body, how she could make out his muscles. Seeing him dirty like this, grease and oil smeared on his shirt and arms, on his hands and even a little bit on his cheek, made her feel hot and bothered and tingly all over.
The longer they stared at each other, neither speaking nor moving, it made Hannah very aware of the changes happening with him. They were subtle but noticeable. His eyes darkened. His chest moved faster the harder he breathed. He looked down at her lips then at the hollow of her throat before trailing those gorgeous eyes back to hers.
His biceps were bulging beneath the shirt, his hands clenching at his sides as if he was trying to control himself as well. Something shifted in Hannah, this feeling that she didn’t have to worry, that she didn’t have to be afraid. She was here with Scars, and everything was… good.
A tingling started in her belly, and her arousal continued to burn slowly inside her. It moved swiftly, so fast she couldn’t wrangle it in. She didn't want to.
What’s happening?
Hannah swore his eyes flashed fire at her as he slowly dragged them up and down her body, as if he couldn't help himself, couldn’t stop himself from checking her out.
She felt bared and raw in the best of ways.
God, she felt like she wore a neon sign above her that said she wanted Scars with a fierceness that controlled her. And it was clear her desire for him was obvious. Why else would he not even try to hide the fact that he checked her out? It made her feel… powerful.
Scars moved toward her even more, and Hannah couldn’t pretend like he didn't remind her of this predator, this stealthy panther or lion stalking with so much power that she knew he’d eat her alive.
For the first time in her life, she wanted to be with a man. She wanted to feel what it was like to be touched by one, held by one… stroked from the inside out by one. She wanted to give herself to Scars in every way imaginable. She’d never had sex, was so inexperienced in anything remotely romantic or sexual, but right now, she was burning alive and didn’t even care about any of that.
She. Just. Wanted. Him.
He was just so big that his entire body took up her all of my eyesight. And with the slow, steady pump of music all around her, the scent of him filling her lungs, and the masculine sexuality he threw off, Hannah couldn’t slow the arousal train as it moved through her veins.
“Scars.” She breathed his name out and watched as he flared his nostrils, as if scenting her, taking in her arousal… knowing she was wet for him.
13
Before Hannah could tell him to kiss her, to touch her, make her feel things she’d only ever fantasized about, he had his hand moving over her neck and sliding to her nape. He gripped her gently but firmly and pulled her forward until her body was now deliciously pressed against his. With her breasts to his hard chest and her head tilted back so she could look into his face, Hannah got lost in his eyes. She felt drunk.
The air left her lungs so forcefully that she felt dizzy for a moment, or maybe it was the lust beating in every corner of her body.
She knew he could see the need clearly on her face. It felt like her body would combust, implode if he didn’t touch her, didn't let her feel that fire she housed on the inside and let it wash over her on the outside.
“When I look at you…” he paused, closed his eyes for a second, and exhaled roughly. When he opened his eyes, he almost seemed pained. “When I look at you, it hurts something fierce, Hannah.”
Her breath caught. “Is that bad?” Please don’t let it be bad.
He shook his head slowly. “No,” Scars said softly. “God no, sweet girl.” He lifted his hand and ran his finger along her cheek, and she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “You’re so innocent, so vulnerable. I just want to keep you close and protect you. I want to make sure no one gets close enough to hurt you.”
She slowly opened her eyes and blinked up at him. “I want that too. I want you close too.” She shouldn’t have said that, but she held strong, letting those words hang between them.
The low, deep-rooted sound that came from him showed Hannah that his arousal was just as strong as hers. It was like she stared into a mirror, the desire so thick it drowned them both.
“We have all the time in the world,” he murmured as he stared at her lips.
“I know. But I want that time to be now.”
With a harsh groan ripping from him, he lowered his face toward hers, his lips now so close she felt his breath moving along her lips.
“This all right? This is slow enough?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But I don’t want slow. I’ve had slow my whole life, it seems. I just want you and how you make me feel.”
“Hannah.” The way he said it sounded gravelly and harsh, as if it was painful for him to say, and with one more growl, Scars crashed his lips against hers and made her forget about everything but this one moment.
There was something primal and possessive about the way Scars held her, kissed her, made her take his lips as if he would die without it.
He pulled back, and she found herself groaning. He had his body pressed against hers, but his lower half wasn’t quite touching hers. And God, she wanted that. She wanted to feel him against her, to see what she actually did to him.
To see if he was just as worked up as she was.
“Press yourself against me, Scars,” she whispered, and he closed his eyes and groaned.
“I can’t,” he gritted out before opening his eyes and staring into hers. There was fire behind the depths, flames that burned brightly for her. Because of her.
“Why not?” she whispered, her heart racing, pounding in her ears.
“Because then you’ll feel what you do to me in all its filthy, obscene fucking glory.” His voice was no more than a guttural whisper.