“Tell me to stop,” he ordered, his voice rough.
It was a test.One I had no intention of passing.Instead, I arched against him, pressing my body back into his, letting him feel exactly how much I wanted this.
Wanted him.
Needed him.
“Don’t,” I whispered, my pulse hammering.“Don’t stop.”
The groan that tore from his throat was pure, agonized need.His hands were firm on my waist, fingers digging into my hips like he was barely holding himself together.
“I’m not good at this,” he rasped again, his voice edged with frustration.
I knew what he meant.He wasn’t good at vulnerability.At giving up control.At letting someone in.I swung around, needing to see his eyes, and stared up at Creed, who dropped his gaze, trying to mask his feelings.
“Then don’t fight it,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the crisp fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath.“Don’t fight us.”
His response was a growl, a sound deep in his chest, dark and unrestrained.His lips found mine again, this time harder, more demanding.His hands slid up my sides, slipping beneath my blouse, fingers pressing into my bare skin, branding me with his touch.Heat surged through me, twisting my insides into a mess of raw need and unspoken emotion.My back arched as his mouth left mine, trailing down the curve of my jaw, his breath hot against my throat while I unfastened the buttons of my blouse.
“You drive me insane,” he muttered against my skin, his voice rough, his control fraying at the edges.“I can’t think when I’m around you.”
My fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as he pushed me back onto my desk, his body crowding mine, dominating the space between us.
“Then stop pretending,” I breathed, my head tipping back as his lips found the sensitive spot just beneath my ear.“Stop punishing me.”
His grip tightened, and for a moment, he stilled.
His hands flexed against my ribs, his breathing uneven, like he was waging a war within himself.
“Creed—”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”His voice was raw, desperate, each word dripping with possession.“Say it, Peyton.”
I met his gaze, the storm in his gray eyes swallowing me whole.
I could fight him.But the truth was, today I wanted this fight.This push and pull.The way he unraveled for me, the way I shattered under him.
“Fuck me,” I whispered as I shrugged out of my blouse and then removed my bra.
A sound rumbled from his chest—something primal, something dangerous.
I was lifted again, Creed sweeping me up like I weighed nothing.He carried me across the room in three long strides.I barely had time to register the sofa beneath my back before his body was covering mine, his mouth crashing into my lips with a hunger that stole my breath.There was no hesitation now.No second-guessing.Just us—wild, reckless, and inevitable.And this time, Creed Kirkland wasn’t running.He was claiming.And God help me, I was letting him.
Creed’s body was a cage above mine, his weight pressing me into the cushion, his presence overwhelming in the best, most dangerous way.His breath was harsh against my lips, his grip unrelenting as he pinned my wrists above my head, his fingers locked tight around mine like he was afraid I might disappear beneath him.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
“You think I don’t feel it?”he growled, his forehead pressing against mine, his voice a razor’s edge between anger and something darker.“The way I lose my goddamn mind every time you’re near?The way I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since the second I walked away?”
His confession sent a shudder through me, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.I arched against him, desperate for friction, for anything to close the aching space between us.“Then why did you leave?”I whispered, my voice raw, filled with every ounce of pain, frustration, and need I had buried for weeks.
His jaw clenched, his grip on my wrists tightening for half a second before he released them, his hands sliding along my breasts, his touch rough, desperate.“I told you why.Because you make me weak,” he rasped, his fingers digging into my waist, pushing beneath the fabric of my skirt, tracing the curve of my hip.“And I don’t do weak, Peyton.”
I sucked in a sharp breath as his lips found my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there before he dragged his tongue over the spot, soothing the sting.
“That’s not weakness,” I gasped, my nails scraping against the back of his neck, holding him to me.“That’s—”
My words cut off as his hand lifted my skirt, pushing between my thighs, his fingers teasing, tormenting my clit.I jolted against him, my breath hitching, my body betraying me completely.
