The Desire Variable - Vol. I

【25】Lover of the Russian Queen

Of all the songs on this earth, it had to be Rasputin, by Boney M?! When the chorus started, I let out a giggle, unable to hold it back.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked, apparently slightly offended.

"I'm sorry, it'll pass. I just really wasn't expecting that," I explained, putting my fingers in front of my mouth, in a failed attempt to hide my wide smile and muffle my giggles.

"What were you expecting?" he asked, his mood slowly drifting into curiosity.

Taken by surprise by his question, I tried to think of an answer. What kind of music did I imagine Alexander Coleman listened to during his free time? Well, classical, for sure, then maybe a little of jazz, the calm and boring type. I wouldn't tell him I thought he listened to boring music, though.

"Not that," I answered, opting for the diplomatic answer.

With a broad smile still on my face, I looked out of my window, listening to the catchy tunes. Without making a sound, I mouthed the lyrics, enticed by the singers' enthusiasm. Ra-ra-Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen. There was a cat that really was gone! Ra-ra-Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine. It was a shame how he carried on...

"You made fun of me, yet you do know the words," he noted with unmasked amusement.

Busted, I turned to him with a lopsided smile. "Of course, I know them. I just really didn't think you would enjoy it to the point where you'd listen to it in your car."

"Maybe we should stop with the music before another song starts," he proposed, apparently preoccupied. Oh, I absolutely had to know what the next song was. Before he could do anything, I quickly pushed the next song button on the touch screen.

To my amazement and hilarity, Build me up Buttercup resonated in the car. A new series of giggles escaped me, and I listened to the band perform their famous song.

"If you're going to mock me the entire way, I'd rather we go with silence," he argued as we were stopped at a red light. His hand went for the screen to stop the music.

Oh, no! I'd managed to offend him. Instinctively – clearly without thinking – I went for his hand and prevented him from pressing the button. "Sorry! I swear, I'm not making fun of you. I love those songs, I'm just really surprised," I tried.

My fingers were wrapped over his wrist, and my right hand was just resting on the back of his. I couldn't help but notice that his wrists were as thick as my ankles, and the skin of his large hand was strangely warm under my palms. If there was, indeed, any correlation between the size of a man's hand and the proportions of his appendage, I didn't want to imagine how hung Lex was. He had this big dick energy, so it made sense that would take root from somewhere.

The music had provided a distraction strong enough for me to forget the physical attraction I felt for him, but it was now coming back all at once, hitting me like a freight train. As if his skin on mine was burning me, I released him instantly, sliding my hands under my thighs, in an attempt to keep them away from temptation.

With my eyes firmly set upfront, I could feel he was observing my profile. Eventually, I found the courage to meet his eyes. His expression was unreadable, as usual, his gaze locked onto mine. The exchange didn't last long, but it felt as if his gray irises could see past my brown ones, staring straight into my soul, reading my thoughts and desires. The mouse and cat thing felt very, very accurate, and I felt ridiculously small and defenseless in his intimidating and commanding presence.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't look away from his entrancing eyes. It was clear that I should, that I needed to hide the magnetic pull this man had on me. He already knew I found him hot, and he had no business knowing he ignited the lewdest desires in me. That absurd physical enthrallment was my skeleton in the cupboard, my shameful secret.