She sighs dramatically, stepping toward the bed, tossing a book onto the nightstand before slipping under the covers. I should not be watching the way the blanket drapes over her body.
“You really don’t have to babysit me, you know,” she says, tugging her blanket higher. “I’m not going to sneak out.”
I smirk, stretching my arms behind my head, making myself comfortable. “That’s what you want me to believe, peaches.”
She rolls her eyes, flopping onto her side, propping her head up with her hand as she glares at me.
“I hate that nickname.”
“No, you don’t.”
She makes a hrmph sound and turns onto her back, her arms stretching above her head for just a second before she relaxes again.
It’s a trap.
It has to be.
Because she knows how she looks right now—spread out on that bed, her pink hair spilling over the pillows, the dim lighting making her skin look soft and golden. She blinks over at me, all innocence and temptation rolled into one.
“So are you going to watch me sleep, or are you going to get into bed with me?”
My body reacts before my brain does. I’m on my feet. I don’t remember standing. I just know that I’m there, closing the distance between us, planting a knee on the bed, bracing my hands on either side of her pillow as I lean down, caging her in.
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move or tell me to stop. She just watches me, her lashes fluttering, her lipsparting slightly, her scent curling around me in a slow, torturous pull.
“You think I won’t?” I murmur, my voice rough.
A slow, teasing smile curves her lips. “I think you’re all talk.”
That’s it. I snap.
My mouth crashes down on hers, and she gasps against my lips, her hands flying to my shoulders. I jerk back, leaning away from her, and she follows me, slipping from under the covers. Her lips parted, her cheeks as pink as her hair. Beautiful.
I should leave. I should turn the fuck around and get out of this room before I do something I can’t take back.
But she’s watching me, eyes lit with a dare, like she wants me to lose control. Her scent—sweet peaches and heat—wraps around me, a fist tightening at my throat, dragging the air right out of my lungs.
And fuck me—I’m hard. Honestly, I’ve been fighting this since day one. The tension. The teasing. The way she pushes, always testing how far she can go.
I’ve let her play. Let her get away with too much. But this? That little innocent blink, pretending she doesn’t know what she’s doing? The unspoken invite to let her pull me into her bed?
One second, I’m breathing through the urge to drown in her. The next, my fist is in her shirt, and I’m crawling over her, pinning her down because I need every inch of her under me.
She moans this time, her fingers grabbing for my shirt, and fuck, I feel that sound everywhere.
“You wanna play with me, peaches?” I growl the question, dragging my palm down to her waist. “Wanna tease me? Flirt with me? See how much I can take?”
She swallows hard, her pupils blown, her breath coming in short, rapid pulls. I tighten my grip on her shirt.
“That’s cute,” I murmur against her jaw, dragging my nose along her skin, inhaling her, drowning in her. “Real fucking cute.”
She shivers, and my cock twitches. She likes this. Likes me caging her in. Likes my hands gripping her too hard, my voice in her ear.
I should stop.
I should really fucking stop.
But then she tilts her head back, baring her throat, and fucking hell. I can’t. I drag my lips over the column of her neck, slow, just enough to make her squirm. I can hear the way her breath stutters, feel the way her body melts into mine.
