The silence stretches, thick and heavy, like the steam still clinging to her skin. Chloe’s eyes are locked on mine, wide and stormy, that towel barely holding on as her chest rises and falls. Water droplets trace paths down her collarbone, disappearing into the valley between her breasts. Fuck, she’s beautiful—always has been, even when she’s pissed. Especially then.
I take a step forward, can’t help it. The air crackles, pulling me in. “Chloe.”
“I said don’t,” she hisses, but her voice wavers, and she doesn’t back up further. Her back hits the edge of the bed, the towel slipping just a fraction, revealing the curve of her hip.
“You look good,” I say, my gaze dropping to those legs, long and toned. Pink from the hot water, flushed like she’s already burning up. “All steamy and pissed off. Turns me on.”
Her cheeks flame deeper. “Get out, Miles. Now.”
But I don’t. I close the distance, towering over her, close enough to smell the cherries—shampoo or body wash, something sweet that hits me like a drug. My hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist before she can shove me. Not hard, just enough to hold her there. “Why? Afraid you’ll like it if I stay?”
She yanks against my grip, but it’s half-hearted. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then away. “You’re delusional.”
I smirk, leaning in until my breath fans her ear. “Am I? Then why’s your pulse racing under my fingers?” I slide my thumbover her wrist, feeling it thrum. Her skin’s so soft, still warm from the shower. I let my other hand trail up her arm, light as a feather, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
“Stop,” she whispers, but it’s breathy, not commanding. Her free hand presses against my chest—my heart’s pounding too—but she doesn’t push.
“Make me,” I challenge, my voice low, rough. I release her wrist only to cup her jaw, tilting her face up. Those green eyes meet mine, defiant but flickering with something hotter. Heat. Want. “Look at me, Chloe. You know you want this. You’ve always wanted this.”
She swallows hard, lips parting. “I don’t—”
“Bullshit.” I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, smearing a drop of water. It’s plump, begging to be bitten. “You like me. Hell, you might even love me. So why the fuck are you spreading your legs for my best friend? Is this some revenge thing? Payback for me being an idiot?”
Her eyes flash, and she shoves at me then, harder. “Don’t you dare—”
I catch her hands, pinning them to her sides, backing her fully against the bed. The towel loosens, the knot at her chest straining. “Jamie, right? Mr. Perfect. Does he make you feel like this? All twisted up and wet?”
“Fuck you,” she snarls, but her hips shift, like she’s fighting the pull between us.
“Oh, I plan to.” I lean down, my mouth hovering over hers, not quite touching. The tension’s electric, coiling tight. “Tell me, princess. Does he fuck you good? Or is it all just... adequate?”
She glares, but there’s a hitch in her breath. “He’s big. Bigger than you could handle knowing about.”
Jealousy flares hot in my gut, but I laugh it off, low and dark. “Big, huh? Bet he doesn’t know how to use it like I would.” My hand slips free from one of hers—she doesn’t fight it—and I tug at the towel’s edge. It unravels slowly, pooling at her feet. Fuck. Her body’s a masterpiece. Her curves are in all the right places, her skin is still pink and dewy, her nipples are hardening into tight peaks under my stare. They’re dusky rose, begging for attention, surrounded by faint bruises––hickeys, fresh ones, blooming like purple flowers on her collarbone and the swell of her breasts.
Jamie’s marks.
My cock twitches in my sweats, hardening at the sight.
“Look at you,” I murmur, tracing a finger over one bruise, light enough to make her shiver. “All marked up. He sucks and bites like he owns you, doesn’t he? Leaving these pretty little reminders.”
“Miles...” It’s a warning, but her voice cracks, and her thighs press together.
I slide my hand lower, over her stomach, dipping in between her thighs. She’s already slick—fingers gliding through her, finding that pretty pink cunt weeping for me. “Jesus, Chloe. So wet. For me. Not him.”
“You can’t do this,” she gasps, but her hips buck into my touch as I circle her clit with my thumb, slow and deliberate. It’s swollen, sensitive, and she moans despite herself.
“Can’t?” I press harder, rubbing in tight circles, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her eyes flutter, but I grab her chin again. “Look at me. Watch what you’re doing to yourself. Your body’s saying something different, princess. It’s screaming for it.”
She whimpers, free hand clutching my shirt, but she doesn’t pull away. I slip a finger inside her—tight, hot, clenching around me like she never wants me to leave. “Please... don’t.”
“Don’t what? This?” I add a second finger, curling them and pressing on a spot that makes her arch. She’s dripping now, coating my hand, the scent of cherries mixing with her arousal—sweet and heady. “Or this?” My thumb keeps working her clit, relentless, building her up.
“Miles... oh god... you can’t—” Her words dissolve into a cry as I pump faster, my palm grinding against her. Her walls flutter,tightening, and I feel her shatter—coming hard on my fingers, juices flooding out as she trembles.
“That’s it,” I growl, not stopping, drawing it out until she’s panting, oversensitive. “Come for me. Not Jamie.Me.”
She slumps against the bed, eyes glazed, but the fire is still there. “Asshole,” she mutters, even as her body leans into mine.
