Stroked Hard (Stroked, #3)

by Meghan Quinn

but this time, she’s the last person I want to talk to. She’ll tell me to stop projecting my dad onto every man I meet and to give someone a chance, to fall in love, to trust. But that’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t . . . Fuck, I don’t want to find out I’m not enough again.

At dinner, he pulled out my chair for me. I didn’t expect anything less on that end, but what I didn’t expect was for him to move his chair closer to mine so he could hold my thigh the entire time. Not my hand, but my thigh. His thumb gingerly stroked my skin as he spoke. It came so naturally to him, that the movement was flawless but consuming on my end. There were many times I couldn’t even concentrate on what he was saying because his thumb was distracting. Conversation was easy. Dinner was exquisite, especially when he chose to feed me parts of his, wanting to share in the flavors. It was romantic with the view of the ocean, the candlelit atmosphere, and the sexy-as-hell man sitting next to me, giving me his undivided attention, eating up every word I spoke, never once looking at his phone that remained in his pocket. HE was engrossed in everything about me. That to me is romance. You can make grand gestures of presents and promises all you want, but it won’t affect me. What cut through the icy chill of my heart was his attentiveness, his intrigue, the way he watched my lips while I spoke, and the way he engaged in conversation, asking me questions, really paying attention to everything I had to say. In a digital world where connections to the outside world sit at our fingertips, to have someone so solely focused on everything you have to say—that to me is sexy, romantic, awe-inspiring.