“T’m not waiting any longer,” he answers tightly. His tone is serious, and if it wasn’t for his still-hard dick currently trying to play tag with my stomach, I’d think he was mad at me. Opening the back door, the barbarian nearly tosses me in, barely giving me enough time to scoot away before he's following in after me, slamming the door behind him. The rain patters loudly against the car. It’s a sound many sleep apps have tried to replicate, but nothing can ever come close to imitating the sound of Seattle rain. I back myself into the opposite side of the car, but the second he realizes what I’m doing, he grabs both of my legs and drags me right back to him. He hovers over me, my back pressing into the leather seat and instantly sticking to it like hot glue on paper. It’s now that my brain focuses on all the insignificant details. Like that I’m completely naked and he’s fully dressed, and somehow, that makes me feel a little embarrassed. Or that the scent of rain and dirt clings to both of us, yet somehow leather and smoke linger on his clothes. I notice how small this car feels with him in it and how incredibly tiny I feel with him crowding me. Those things shadow over the details I’m too chicken to acknowledge. Like the fact that he’s staring down at me so intently, it feels as if his retinas are electromagnetic, and he can see everything I’m hiding inside. I’m not brave enough to meet his stare. Or that his hands are settled back on my waist, the coarseness of his skin sending delicious static shocks throughout my nerve endings. He leans down close, until his lips are a mere inch from mine. My eyes snap to his, like two opposite magnets. I can’t stop the force and once our gazes clash, all thoughts—all those details—are forgotten. I can’t think of anything else but how much I want him to kiss me, touch me, and claim me as his, over and over until I’m too delirious to fight any longer. “You like to pretend,” he observes, a touch of amusement in his tone. “Maybe I’m not,” I retort. “Maybe you’re in denial.” I tighten my lips, refusing to answer. He smiles knowingly, and the sight is devastating. While I’m busy having a mini heart attack, he pulls me in close, wrapping one arm around my waist while his other hand cups the back of my neck. His minty breath fans across my face, caressing my lips like a light breeze in the spring. “What are you feeling right now?” he asks softly. My breathing escalates. “Confined.”