Political Love

.....Stays in Vegas Chapter 6

Alison POV:

"Can I? Pull on it to see that recoil you just mentioned?" Lucas asks me, his voice steady but laced with something more—curiosity, maybe, or something deeper. His eyes lock onto mine, and there's a flicker of something I can't quite place. He seems almost eager, waiting for my permission. I nod and shrug it off. He's just trying to learn, I tell myself, but there's a tension in the air, thick and heavy.

"I don't care. Go ahead," I reply, trying to sound indifferent, but my pulse quickens. His gaze shifts from my eyes to my curls, and I can see the focus in his expression. He takes a section of my hair on the left side, his fingers brushing against my scalp as he does. The contact is gentle, almost tender, and then he pulls lightly. It's not painful, just a soft tug, but it sends a shiver down my spine, like someone gently demanding my attention.

"Did you see the recoil?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I'm hyper-aware of how close he is now. He leans in, examining my hair with an intensity that makes my heart race. He shakes his head no, and I chuckle, trying to break the tension that's starting to coil in my stomach.

"It's probably because you're pulling on a whole section instead of just one curl," I explain, but the words come out breathier than I intended. His fingers massage my scalp, a soothing gesture that contrasts with the electric tension building between us. Then, without warning, he pulls a little harder. My lips part, and a shaky breath escapes me. The sensation is unexpected, a mix of pleasure and surprise, and it lingers long after his hand has released my hair.

"I see the recoil now," he murmurs, his voice huskier than before. His words brush against my skin like a whisper, and he's so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. His fingers move through my hair again, this time to fix what he's tousled, but it feels more like an excuse to touch me again.

My hand moves to my thigh, rubbing it absently as I try to shake off the lingering effects of his touch. But my mind drifts back to the kitchen, where he snapped and mimicked how Daniel touched me. Except Lucas didn't just mimic—he squeezed my throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point clear. It was intense, a reminder of the strength he keeps hidden beneath his composed exterior. I should be scared, or at least wary, but instead, I find myself wondering what he'll do next.

Is this some kind of mind game? I can never wrap my head around this man. He's smart, careful, always seems to know exactly what he's doing. Yet here I am, going along with him, before I can catch myself wanting to stop this.

"You like my hair?" I ask, trying to make sense of the compliment he gave me. It's odd hearing him say something like that, but there was something genuine in his voice earlier.

"I said I did," he replies, his tone firm, but there's an edge to it now. "I like it more now. I see what you're talking about." He clears his throat, and I notice him adjusting himself in his seat, his knees shifting slightly as if he's trying to hide something. He's turned away from me now, looking more at the aisle, like he's trying to distance himself.

I let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I thought you liked redheads," I tease, rubbing my jeans again, feeling the fabric beneath my fingertips.

"Well, I like curly-haired women more," he mumbles, and there's a roughness to his voice, something almost strained. He clears his throat again, for the second time in a row.

"Oh, I changed your type?" I say, teasing him further, but there's a genuine curiosity in my voice. What's going on with him? Why is he suddenly pulling away after being so close? I lean over, trying to get a better look at him, trying to understand what's causing this shift.

"You're changing a lot," he says, turning his head to meet my eyes, but his body remains distant, like he's trying to put some space between us.

"What, you don't want to be near me or touch me again?" I continue, my tone playful, but I can't ignore the growing tension between us. I poke the tip of my tongue out between my teeth, waiting for his response, trying to figure out what's really going through his mind.