Books that tie us together

Letting go

After checking the 20 books Bardon decided to get, an uncomfortable silence settles between the two of us, and I don't know what to do with myself.

"Thanks for accepting so nicely my recs, I hope you like them as much as The Spanish Love Deception, though that will be hard, that book is the best of the best..." and I'm talking too much again. Though I usually don't give a damn if I talk a lot or not, I just don't want to look like I'm acting this way because I'm nervous about the fact that the only thing between us right now is the desk, and because I don't understand this urge to have him a little bit closer.

Like this is Paris Bardon we are talking about, I never liked him, never even talked to him, but that doesn't exactly have to change, right?

"Don't thank me Ana, I'm sure I'll enjoy them" My name on his lips sounds too good, too right, and before I can think more into a reason for this, he starts to walk towards what I think it's the door, but he actually turns the other direction and heads for the "living room area" of my bookstore, it's pretty much just a couple of sofas and pillows of all sizes so customers can sit when they are tired of reading standing.

He takes a seat and I look at him with a questioning look, which he catches and therefore says "I heard what Falcon said and I will not leave you here by yourself" He has to be fucking kidding me right now!

"I am a grown ass woman who can take perfect care of herself, so there's no need for your intent at being prince charming" I say while I feel my face getting redder by the minute because of the anger building inside of me.

Some might think I'm overreacting, but those same people are the ones that say a feminist is just "a dramatic woman that hates men", but what I hate is men thinking they must protect me, simply because they don't believe me capable of doing so myself.

"I am not saying you need me here, and I know you didn't ask me. I know you can take perfect care of yourself, but why don't you let others that genuinely want to, take care of you too? You might think you don't know me, well, let me show you who I am, starting right now."

Why? Why would I let you in? Why would you let me in? You could get hurt; I could get hurt. Why do people love risking it so badly? I want to learn why, and how, and what happens if you just let go, but I'm protecting myself, and I can't do it with my guard down.

I turn around and point in the direction of the door, and even though I know I don't want to I say "Please leave, I'm seriously fine. I've done this a million times..." He pulls me close to him by the wrist of my left hand, which is not busy pointing, I lose my balance and end up lading on his lap in one swift motion.

With my back against his hard chest, I feel his warmth wrapping me in a safe space. He shouldn't feel this way; he is not allowed to make me feel this way. My breath quickens its pace and I think his does too by the way I feel his chest moving rapidly.

Turning around very slowly my eyes meet honey ones, gorgeous honey eyes. Our lips are inches apart and my mind is frozen, everything stopped functioning, and it's suddenly just him I'm aware of. What a fucking cliché.

He licks his lips and I start feeling something hard under me. I feel him grow more each second that passes and suddenly there's only one thing I can think of.

Please kiss me, I beg you to fucking kiss me. But he doesn't, he stays there, just looking at me, and with an arm around my waist that I feel gripping me tighter by the second.

So, I decide to do something about it. I slide my hand over his hard arm slowly, very slowly, feeling every tense muscle underneath his hoodie, putting only a little bit of pressure, and move my hips in circular motions against him, trying to feel it where I want it the most. And I do, the thin material of my skirt making it easier.