His hands slide down to grip my ass, pulling my hips tight against his. The skirt is short. His fingertips are brushing against the tops of my bare thighs.
He kisses me hard and hot, like he wants to consume me whole.
I find the hem of his t-shirt and slide my hands inside. He has the most annoyingly attractive body I’ve ever seen. Hard muscle flows beneath soft skin, and I run my nails along his back.
“You’re the most confusing person I’ve ever met,” he mutters against my neck. His lips are moving fast and hot over my skin. Down across my collarbone.
I push my hips against his and feel the press of his erection. It sends electricity through me. We’re constantly in a negotiation of power. One takes and the other gives, over and over again.
“I’m not the one confusing things,” I say, and I tug at his t-shirt. I’ve touched him shirtless before. But it’s never been likethis.He leans back long enough to tear it off and then reaches for me again. I run my hands over his skin, burning hot with fury. I shouldn’t be doing this. But I don’t want to stop, and impulse control has never been my strong suit.
“Stop doing this to me,” I tell him between the kisses. The burning inside my chest has moved lower, into my stomach. It’s spreading. “Ihatethis feeling.”
“That makes two of us.” His hand brushes over my breast,across a hardened nipple that pokes through my top. I use his pause to palm him through his pants.
He’s hard, and I want more of him. I’ve been thinking of him since that party. Of what he looked like and felt like.
And what he’d feel like inside me.
He groans and walks me back until I hit the tennis net. It’s soft behind me. Barely strong enough to hold me up. There’s somuchof him. I’ve never kissed him when he was shirtless, with all this taut skin for my hands to brush over.
He tugs my shirt and sports bra up with rough hands. It’s more Rafe the fighter than Rafe the charmer. He bends to kiss across my chest, over the curve of my left breast. When he pops the nipple into his mouth, his dark hair brushing against my skin, I moan.
Why have we never done this before?
It’s an excellent way of fighting and a great way of keeping score. It’s tennis, but it’s so much better than it, too. A game of wills and a battle of skill.
I grip his hair tight enough that I hope it hurts.
He bites my nipple, teeth grazing over it.
I’ve never been this wet in my life. I can feel it between my legs, and the aching hollowness that only he can fill.Only him, and he’s the last person in the world I can trust. The betrayal from earlier has sharpened my desire. Carved it into a sharp want. I want to punish him and I want him to make it up to me.
“This fucking thing,” he says, and slides his hands beneath the hem of my tennis skirt. “I’ve thought of fucking you in this every time we’ve played.”
“Then why haven’t you?” I ask. It’s a taunt, my hands tightening in his hair. I kiss his neck. The spot where he once had a bruise, the one I thought was a hickey. I hope I leave one there in return for all the anguish the former one caused me.
“Don’t say that,” he says, hand finding the fabric of my panties, stroking me through it. “Or I’ll fuck you right here.”
“Stop talking,” I tell him, and brush my teeth against his shoulder in a bite. “And do it.”
He mutters something in French, or maybe Italian. I feel powerful and dizzy with want. He makes me feel alive, too, alongside the anger and the confusion and the frustration. He makes me feel something as ordinary and as glorious aswanted.
His strong hands turn me around and I grip the top of the net.
“What did you say?” I demand, looking over my shoulder at him.
He pulls my skirt up and palms one of my ass cheeks. His eyes are locked on his movements.
“I said that you’re going to kill me,” he mutters. “But that I’m going to let you.” He pulls my thong down my thighs and slides his fingers along my slit. “Fuck. You’re wet. How are you always so wet, Wilde?”
“Don’t give me compliments in languages I don’t understand.”
He locks eyes with me and reaches for his shorts. He tugs them down, and there he is, hard and bobbing against me. It makes my throat go dry.
“Non,” he says, and then tells me something else in French. It’s a long sentence, breathless and heated, and he reaches around to rub my clit harshly.
“Stop it,” I say, but it’s broken by a moan. He’s circling fast, and the pleasure spreads like small lightning bolts through my body.
