My breath is already uneven—but I hold his gaze anyway, tilting my head just slightly.
“I like it,” I say softly.
His eyes don’t move.
“What?” he murmurs.
I swallow.
Then I say it.
“I like when you look at me like you’re starving.”
His gaze drops for a second.
Dragging over me.
Then back to my eyes.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
And before I can answer his hand moves.
Fingers brushing along my thigh, slowly, like he’s testing how far he can go without me stopping him.
I don’t.
My breath catches instead.
And he notices that.
His thumb presses lightly into my thigh, just under the hem of my dress, holding there for a second before dragging slightly higher.
“You like that?” he murmurs.
My fingers tighten in his shirt.
I nod.
His hand settles there.
“Told you I’ve been starving,” he
