“Jamie.” I grip the sides of his dark tee with both hands, needing him to understand this isn’t me rejecting his help. “This...” I whimper. “What you’re doing right now... It’s helping. Please,please, please, don’t stop.”
And just because he’s Jamie, and being a dick comes as naturally as breathing for him, he stops, and my next breath is stolen from my lungs as I’m lifted and set on top of the vanity. “What the hell?—?”
But before I can finish my thought, he steps between my legs, and both his hands dig into the muscles at the back of my neck as they work their way back up to my skull.
A quiet moan slips past my lips.
The tension drains out of me with each hard press of his fingers.
I’d say this feels better than sex, but I still remember exactly what sex with this man feels like. And as incredible as his hands are, there are other things that are even more exquisite.
“Ashton...” My name is a hushed whisper that barely registers as I lower my head to his shoulder, erasing what little space is left between us, and suck in a breath as his scent envelops me. Warm, creamy sandalwood mixes with the spicy fresh scent that is so deliciously only Jamie. Heat radiates from his skin as I flatten my hands against the hard ridges of his abs just above the hem of his shorts and silently smile when I hear his groan of approval.
An alarm might as well be going off in my head for how dangerous this is.
We don’t do this.
We don’t touch.
Not since that night.
Bad things happen when we touch.
Things I should stop but can’t. Because. They. Feel. Too. Damn. Good.
Jamie’s giant palm slides to my face, tilting my chin and holding me captive with each heavy breath as we stay locked in a fog where we’re the only two people in existence. A fog where we don’t hate each other. Where we justare.
And for one stolen moment, I forget that we’re not.
His thumb caresses my jaw, and my soft chest rubs against his deliciously hard one.
Pulled to him by an invisible rope.
One dragging me to the edge of a cliff, daring me to leap.
I could fight the pull.
Dig my heels in and refuse to jump.
Or trust him to catch me after the fall.
I trusted him a lifetime ago.
Can I do it again?
But even as the thought plays out in my mind, I know it doesn’t matter whether I can or not because want and need have pushed safety and trust to the back of the line.
“Do you want to kiss me, Jamie?” I whisper, unsure of what he’ll say.
Unsure of which possible answer scares me more.
And even less sure of which one I want more.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you every fucking day since we woke up in Chicago, Ashton.” The need reflecting back at me is intoxicating as Jamie slowly gathers my face in his hands. Giving me a chance to stop him. A chance I don’t need and won’t take.Not today. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since you were fifteen years old and I realized you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
His words are like a balm washing over all the jagged pieces on my tattered soul. “What are you waiting for?”
“Permission,” he growls as his lips ghost over mine. “Give me permission, Ashton.”
