“Why not?”
“Because I do want it. Want you. Have wanted you since that first day with the damn goat.” His hand cups mybreast through my bra. “Do you know what you’ve been doing to me? Walking around in those tight jeans, arguing with me, looking at me with those eyes?”
“What about what you’ve been doing to me?” I reach back, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth to my neck. “Acting all superior and competent, fixing things with those hands, looking at me like you want to devour me?”
“I do want to devour you.” He proves it by sucking on my pulse point, definitely leaving a mark. “Want to taste every inch of you.”
“Wyatt—”
“Want to find out what sounds you make when you come apart.” His hand slides down my stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of my shorts. “Want to be the one who makes you make those sounds.”
I’m trembling now, caught between his body and his words, drowning in sensation and want.
“This is crazy,” I breathe.
“Completely insane,” he agrees, his fingers dipping just below my waistband.
“If anyone finds out?—”
“I know.”
“Your dad will disown you.”
“Probably,” he agrees, his teeth grazing my shoulder where my tank top has slipped.
“My dad would literally kill you.”
“Worth it.” His hand slides lower, and I have to bite my hand to keep from crying out.
“So what are we doing?”
“I have no idea.” His fingers find the edge of my underwear. “But I know I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting you.”
“Wyatt, we can’t—not here?—”
“I know.” But his fingers are still teasing, still driving me crazy. “But tell me you feel it too. Tell me I’m not alone in this.”
“You’re not alone.” I turn in his arms, needing to see his face, even in the darkness. “You’re definitely not alone.”
His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “This is such a bad idea.”
“The worst.”
“We should stop.”
“We should.”
But neither of us moves to break the spell. We stay frozen in that moment, teetering on the edge of something that could change everything. His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I part them instinctively.
“I want to kiss you again,” he says roughly.
“So kiss me.”
He does, and this time there’s nothing gentle about it. It’s hot and demanding, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me. I kiss him back just as desperately.
When we break apart, we’re both panting.
“We’re playing with fire,” he says against my mouth.
