“Your call, babe. I’m down for a hate fuck if you are.” I raise a brow and wait.
Her jaw drops and her eyes widen.
I take a few menacing steps toward her until I force her legs apart and I’m standing between them. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want this. I see the way your lips part when you’re studying me. I heard that little moan. I felt the way your hips shifted against mine so you could feel how hard my cock is for you. So tell me, do you want me to fuck you, or do you want to quietly slip out and pretend this never happened?”
A flash of intimidation passes through her eyes as she looks up at me from where she sits on the bed, though her next words contradict the flash I saw. “On the field and in the bedroom,” she murmurs.
“What?” I demand.
“The two places where your arrogance takes over.” She purses her lips.
“There’s a difference between arrogance and confidence.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Jesus, she’s sexy sitting there on my bed, her eyes gazing up at me with heat and need as her nipples form tight peaks beneath her shirt, begging for my mouth.
I don’t invite women to my bed. Ever. This is my home. My sanctuary. I’m not sure why I carried her in here and didn’t carry her through her own door, but here we are. Some instinct inside kicked in, and I had to get her into my territory. On my home turf.
“Arrogance overestimates one’s abilities,” I say, and I lean down. She leans back with me until she’s lying on her back and my body is hovering over hers. “There’s no misjudgment here. I know exactly what I’m doing on the field, and I know exactly what I’m doing in bed.”
“So I’m nothing more to you than a mistake?” she asks, and I’m not sure if she’s clarifying or seeking some sort of validation that this would be more to me.
I’m aware of the gravity here.
Regardless of what happens next, we have to spend the next year together. I can’t allow her to be a distraction—or at least no more of a distraction than she’s already proven to be.
I can’t give her the validation she needs, but I also can’t call it a mistake until I know the consequences.
“I didn’t say that,” I mutter. I lean down and press my lips to her neck, and God, she tastes good. I feel her tight nipples through her shirt like they’re trying to escape and rub along my chest, and she arches her back into me as she lets a frustrated grunt rip out of her.
“Fuck, you’re annoying,” she says.
“But you want me anyway.”
“Do I?”
“Tell me to stop and I will.” I thrust my hips against her, and my legs are positioned in a way that forces my cock right against her cunt.
She groans, and I do it again, harder this time.
“Don’t stop,” she begs.
I thrust again, and when she moans as her head rolls back and she reaches to grip onto the back of my biceps, I feel the pressure starting up at the base of my spine.
I could come just from thrusting against her like this.
Fuck.
Goddamn, I’m hot for her. Hotter than I realized. I haven’t been with a woman in far too long, and it’s been even longer since I’ve been with someone who managed to incite even an ounce of emotion in me.
And hatred is an emotion. A strong one.
She makes mefeel. For the first time in a fucking decade, I’mfeelingagain. Off the field. It’s terrifying, but it’s exhilarating at the same time.
I think about kissing her again, but I realize how fucking dangerous putting my mouth on hers is. This isn’t about feelings. It’s not about falling. It’s about getting her out of my fucking head so we can move on like professionals. It’s about acting on impulse and fulfilling a need that comes down to basic animalistic nature.
Because sex never complicated anything, right?
