Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

This guy who can have whomever, whenever is telling me I’m gorgeous.

“Thank you,” I quietly say, embracing his compliment. My body feels warm. My shoulders are light. The weight of earlier is gone, and I’m…happy sitting here, under the falling sun, talking to this beautiful man. Is this what Ana feels every time she’s with a guy? This…freedom? If so, it’s…addictive.

He looks entranced. His eyes are taking me in with a depth that steals my breath. I glance down at his hand, at his fingers drumming now along the table. I want to reach over and touch him. The urge is so strong, I don’t think I can fight it.

“Is this real?” I wonder aloud, bewildered at where I am – at who I’m with.

His lips curve up. “What’s so unbelievable?”

I look at him, fascinated, riveted, completely on a high. “You. Us. Eating ice cream. It’s not how I envisioned seeing you again would be like.”

“No, I was wearing a suit.”

I laugh. “Yes.”

He smirks. “Well, what did you envision exactly? Dinner? Candlelight?”

“I’m not a romantic.”

He nods slowly, approvingly. “I believe it. So, you envisioned us in bed, then.”

I don’t respond straight away. I hesitate because I’ve drawn some imaginary line I don’t want to cross. But I think I’m crossing a million other ones I don’t want to confront.

“You’ve been thinking about what I said on the plane, haven’t you?” he then asks, curious.

“You said a lot of things on the plane.”

“About fucking you.”

My heart skips a beat. How does he do that so easily? Say shit like that like it’s nothing. I purse my lips. “You said I was a quest. You know, maybe this is what this is, then. Your intrigue is driven by the fact I walked away. You need to see me to get over what happened.”

“No.” He shakes his head, his face straight. “See, I wondered that. I thought maybe all I needed to do to get you out of my system is see you one more time, but…I’m still as entranced. My body is wound up. I’ve got this…ache inside me. I felt it when we talked on the phone. It’s deep, like an itch I can’t scratch. I want you even more now. I know you want the same thing.”

“I can’t talk the way you do.”

“You mean, you can’t tell me you want me.”

“Aidan –”

“Don’t say anything,” he interrupts sharply, suddenly solemn. “Let’s just get to the point of all this. I’m not going to put you in the position of saying anything back and make you feel guilty about it afterwards. Let me do the talking because I know that’s what you want, isn’t it? You want me to talk dirty to you, but you don’t want to participate. Because participating is stepping over that invisible boundary. This is just like the plane and the phone. This is me telling you I can blow your fucking mind in the bedroom, give your body the attention it deserves. You want me to tell you how much I’ve been thinking about it, how hard I get just thinking about it. Do you like hearing me say that? Just nod. Don’t speak.”

I’m breathless, my eyes are shining, and my body is shaking. I’m dangling over a line, tempted to tell him he can talk to me any way he likes, that it’s okay to, that it’s not wrong, but I’m scared of taking that step. I prefer him to think the boundaries between us still exist.

I mute my mind and nod.

He looks pleased by it. His mouth is parted, and he’s staring at me with a face that speaks of his desire. I feel satisfaction with that look. I feel…wanted. So damn wanted. It’s so alien of a feeling, it’s an addiction I want to feel over and over again.

“Good,” he replies quietly. “We got to the point quickly. Let’s not get caught up in denial. We’re better than that. Smarter. Let’s just…accept we both want each other. Nod if I’m right.”

I nod.

He smiles softly. “Okay. I won’t rush this. I don’t want to, either. You’re worth being patient for.”

So…

“Now what?” I ask quietly.

“Now we talk about other things. Get this friendship bullshit happening, make you feel comfortable, and then later when you’re alone, when you’re staring at the ceiling and thinking of me, about us, I’ll tell you how much more I want to fuck you. Okay?”

I nod, my lower half throbbing.

“Tell me about your day, Ivy.”

*

We talk about everything. They’re safe topics. He purposely dodges the heavy stuff, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to talk about Derek or my failed marriage, especially the reason behind it. And he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know. The slightest mention of Derek makes his jaw clench with displeasure.

We talk music, and we share no similar taste.

We talk movies, but he hasn’t watched one in years and can’t remember what the last one was. It’s a disaster, but we make light of it and keep trying. He’s so laid back and witty, and when I laugh or blush, it just fuels his cockiness. He’s got this look of certainty. The world is his oyster kind of thing. A man like him is in control of everything around him, and it shows, because I get pulled in and lost in his orbit.

When it’s my turn to talk, he studies me intently, his eyes never straying from mine. He invests all his attention into me, and I can’t remember a time I had the complete attention of another man. Maybe never.

When the conversation finally slows, we end up staring at each other. Our gazes are trapped to one another; our intense connection is impossible to ignore. I feel more in our stares than in our talks. It’s bizarre having a conversation with someone without saying a word. His eyes are warm, lustful. His wicked lips are pulled up just enough to let me know what he’s thinking,