I shouldn’t be doing this. I need to walk away from her. This is the furthest thing from getting her to fall in love with me. But I could read what she needed so easily in her tempestuous eyes. She craves a release, and based on the hints of lust glistening in her devastatingly alluring irises, I knew I could give it to her.
I’d be lying if I said part of my reasoning wasn’t selfish as well. Even though I just felt her lips on mine not too long ago, it wasn’t enough. It merely stoked an ember that has since turned into a forest fire raging inside of me. I yearn to feel more of her soft skin brushing against me, and I fear this feeling will swallow me whole if I’m not careful.
She pulls away from me, and my eyes drink in her beauty now that I can see a little more of her. The light from the fireplace dances across her bronzed skin, giving it an ethereal glow.
I’ve stared at her for decades, but somehow this moment still feels like seeing her for the first time. Her chest is rising and falling in rapid succession as she watches me shamelessly rove my eyes over her body. Even after all this time, she’s my addiction, and the bits and pieces I continue to get from her will never be enough. The mere taste I got of her the other night was not enough. I need her at my side, always.
“Are you just going to stare at me?” Her breathy tone doesn’t let her barb land as harshly as I’m sure she would have liked it to, and the sound of her need for me has my body stiffening with arousal.
“What would you like me to do?”
“You told me to use you,” she states.
“I did.”
“What do you believe that entails?” The familiar tendrils of fury line her words, and I’m unsure of if she wants me to stop her from what she wants to do or encourage her.
“I don’t expect anything from you, but I will graciously take whatever you’re willing to give me.”
My words elicit the smallest gasp from her, and that sound has my knees buckling. The things I wouldn’t give to have her make that sound again, and the opportunity is at my fingertips, but I need it to be on her terms. I watch her eyes flick between mine, warring with herself over what she wants.
“Azalea.” The husky timber in my voice causes her body to shiver against me. “Tell me what you want.”
Her eyes flare with defiance. It would be humiliating for her to verbalize her want for me. A gentleman wouldn’t force her to admit to such things, especially when every move she makes is out of a need to release the deep-seated resentment pulsing through her veins. But, as I’ve proven time and time again, I’m not a gentleman. I’m not sure I’m even a man anymore. And Ineed to hear her say it out loud. When she stays silent, I fill with a detrimental determination to coax it out of her.
Snaking my fingers up her neck, I wrap her hair around my fist, pulling her head back and eliciting another small gasp. That sound would drive even the sanest of men wild, and I know I’m already half-mad with my need for her.
Sliding her hands up from my chest, she tangles her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck and pulls my mouth down to hers. I don’t resist. My desire to explore every inch of her takes over every inch of my mind. She grinds her body against my now fully hard cock, and I release a guttural groan into her mouth. She swallows the sound greedily, becoming more frenzied with her lips. I need to feel more of her. I break our kiss just long enough to grab the back of her legs and lift her. Her skirt moves up to her knees as she wraps her legs around my torso. I shuffle us backward until her back is pressed against the bookshelf behind her.
My hand finds its way back to her hair, and my fingers instinctively tighten around her curls when I feel a small pinch of pain. She bit me. She actually bit my lower lip and drew blood. Fuck me. I was talking about drawing blood being foreplay as a joke, but I can’t pretend like her swiping her tongue over the small split on my bottom lip doesn’t have me wanting to tear her clothes off her and begin worshipping every inch of her body.
Our lips and tongues hungrily dance with each other, searching for something we both have been deprived of for too long. With aching determination, I pull my mouth from hers.
“Say it,” I practically growl. I crave hearing her admit that she wants me. I can’t keep going unless I know without a fraction of a doubt that she wants this too. “Tell me what you want Azalea.”
“Fuck you.” She tightens her legs around my torso and pushes herself up, locking our lips together once again. I skate my lips down her neck, biting gently, causing her to release a needymoan. I’m enthralled by every sound she makes, and determined to see just how many I can get out of her.
“Say it or I stop,” I threaten.
Azalea groans in frustration, as one hand begins kneading her ass and the other glides up her outer thigh. Still, she keeps her lips firmly pressed together. I flip my hand to touch the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, and I feel her body grow tight with anticipation. My fingers begin drawing lazy circles on her skin as they slide closer to the apex of her thighs before gliding away.
“Wildflower,” I taunt. “Say—”
“Touch me,” she pants, and I almost fall to my knees to reward her, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t everything I want to hear her admit. “Braxton,” the breathy way she says my name has me pulling my lips from her neck and looking at her. “I want you.”
40
Azalea
Myadmissionsendsawave of embarrassment coursing through me, but my need for release is stronger. My body is somehow perfectly tuned in to Braxton’s every move, and he is playing me like I’m an instrument that was made for him.
His fingers dig into my side at hearing my words, and the slight pain it causes thrills me. That’s what I need right now. I need rough touches, imprinting kisses, hateful thrusts. Because that’s what this is. There isn’t any love between us. This is a means to an end. A long overdue release. And to my great relief, Braxton seems to understand that beautifully.
Spinning us around, he drops me onto one of the tables in the library before forcing my legs apart with his knees. Where he once drew tantalizing circles, he bypasses that area and roughly shoves my panties to the side. All the while, his lips scatter feverish kisses along my neck, my jaw, my collarbone.
I should be embarrassed by how wet I already am when his fingers glide along my slit, but I can’t seem to muster up the emotion. I’m aching. I’m actually physically aching for him to touch me, and him taking his time is a punishment all its own.
“Already so wet for me. Tell me again how you don’t want this.”
