Heat floods through me at the memory of last night's "lesson," and I hate myself for it.
"You said you wouldn't touch me," I spit out.
"I said I wouldn't make you have sex with me. I didn't say anything about sleeping in my own bed." His thumb traces my pulse point. "Your heart's racing."
"Because you're choking me!"
"I'm not choking you. If I were, you wouldn't be able to talk." He leans closer, his body pressing mine into the mattress. "This is restraint. This is me reminding you that pushing me has consequences."
"Everything has consequences with you." I try to buck him off, but he's too heavy, too strong. "Let me go."
"Say please."
"Go to hell."
His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile. "There's that fire. I was starting to think last night broke it."
"Last night was—" I cut myself off, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
"Was what? Illuminating? Educational?" His free hand trails down my side. "Arousing?"
"None of those things."
"Liar." His fingers find the hem of my t-shirt, playing with the fabric. "You were soaked, Bianca. Don't pretend you weren't."
Mortification burns through me. "Shut up."
"Why? Because it's true? Because you can't stand that you wanted it?" He shifts his weight, and I become acutely aware of how little clothing is between us. His sweatpants. My t-shirt and those damn lace panties. "You can hate me all you want. But your body tells a different story."
"My body is a traitor."
"Your body is honest." He releases my throat but doesn't move away. Just props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. "The rest of you? All lies and deflection. But your body? It tells me exactly what you want."
"What I want is for you to get off me so I can take a shower." I shove at his chest. "Alone."
He doesn't budge. "Is that really what you want?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?" His hand slides higher, under the edge of my shirt, fingers tracing my ribs. "Because I could make you feel very good right now. Could finish what we started last night."
My breath hitches traitorously. "I don't want?—"
"You do." His mouth is close to my ear now. "You want it so badly you're shaking. But you're too stubborn to admit it."
He's right. I am shaking. My entire body is trembling with a confusing mix of anger and arousal that I don't know how to process.
"Please," I whisper, hating how weak it sounds. "I need space."
He goes still.
Then, slowly, he pulls back. Rolls off me. Sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me.
"Go," he says, his voice rough. "Take your shower. But Bianca? Next time you push me out of bed, I won't be so understanding."
I scramble off the mattress, putting distance between us. My legs are unsteady, my heart still racing.
"There won't be a next time," I say. "Because you're not sleeping here again."
