17
GABRIELA
Carlos had talked me into ordering the shrimp scampi, which I did, and yet he still kept shoving his hands through his hair repeatedly, and making snarky comments about my tea.
“Why are you mad?” I asked.
“I’m not mad,” he sniped at me.
I flinched away from him and raised my brows, crossing my arms in an “Oh, really?” type gesture.
Big mistake goading him. He leaned down and his breath kissed my ear when he whispered, “There is a difference between being frustrated and being angry. Did you ever think that I can’t get the image of your sweet mouth around my c**k out of my mind? It’s enough to drive any man insane and I wasn’t playing with a full deck to start with.”
My chin shot toward the ceiling, a completely inappropriate feeling of accomplishment pouring over my body
