His smile somehow grows wider. “Just say the word.”
I try to cover my fluster with a scoff, turning away onto my back. “No, Idon’twant you to take off your pants, Jax,” I insist, but I don’t even sound convincing to my own ears. My skin is suddenly electric, the bedding sure to catch fire at any second.
“Oh.” He turns to face me, and I can feel his cocky gaze burning into my cheek. “So, you want to do it yourself then?”
“You’re impossible.” I narrow my eyes at the ceiling.
“And you’re stubborn,” he replies, his voice dropping into an easy amusement that makes me want to throw something at him and climb on top of him in the same breath.
“I think getting my house burned down allows some room for being stubborn.” I huff, needing to remind both of us that I’m still mad.
“You were stubborn before that,” he says, and the fondness that sneaks into his tone makes my throat tighten.
“Ugh!” I crack, thrashing under the blanket. “Will you just take them off already?”
He gives a raucous laugh, and then he’s on top of me. His weight pins me to the mattress, heat radiating through the blanket. The firelight catches his eyes, amusement dancing in them. “You didn’t have to yell, buttercup. I told you, just say the word.”
“Then why are you still wearing them?” I practically snap, about to crawl out of my skin with want, my body responding way too quickly to his. I’m burning up. I need the layers between us gone. Now.
He laughs again, a deep rumble that vibrates through my body. He presses his hips down, and I let out a sharp gasp. His grin is all sharp teeth and wicked promise in the dim light. “Because,” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, “now I want to hear you beg.”
He rips the blanket out from between us.
A small breath leaves my lips as he traces a claiming path up my thigh and glides over my stomach, his fingers teasing the waistband of my shorts. I can feel the hard press of his jeans against my legs, the rough denim a stark contrast to his soft touch. It’s torture. I need him closer. I need to feel skin on skin, to feel the heat of him without the barrier of his clothes.
I try to speak, to form a coherent thought, to beg like he wants me to, but all that comes out is a choked sound. His thumb circles my belly button, and I arch into the touch. I’m lost in the amber glow of the room, lost in the feeling of his body on mine.I’m helpless for him, and he knows it. He’s in control, and I hate myself for how much I love it.
“Don’t you want to feel me?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. A shiver, both of pleasure and of something darker, runs down my spine. “Just say it. Tell me what you want.”
I stare into his eyes, a desperate plea forming on my face. I’m a mess of want and humiliation, the sound of my ragged breathing filling the room. “I…” I start, my voice barely a whisper, “I want you inside me.”
His eyes darken, the amusement replaced by a predatory intensity that makes my stomach clench. The smile doesn’t disappear, but it changes, becoming a curve that promises ruin.
He shifts his weight off me but doesn’t move far. Kneeling on the bed, looking down at me with those unblinking, devilish eyes, he reaches for the button on his jeans, his movements slow and deliberate. I swallow. I can’t look away as he undoes the button, the metallic click causing me to arch my back.
His gaze never leaves my face as he slides the zipper down.
Something dark and satisfied crosses his features. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” But instead of moving away to undress, he leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below my ear. “Though, I think you can do better than that.”
“Jax,” I warn, but it comes out breathless.
“Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you,” he whispers against my skin, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear every filthy thought that’s been running through that beautiful head of yours.”
The heat in my belly coils tighter, and I wrap my legs around him without meaning to. The firelight flickers across his face, casting shadows that make him look dangerous, untamed. Everything I should run from and everything I haven’t been able to resist.
“I want…” I start, but find I’m at a loss.
I’ve never been given the opportunity to choose what I want. Normally, at this point, the point where I’m in bed with a man, I just want to get it over with, already knowing I’m in for a letdown. But Jax? Not only has he never been a letdown, but heowesme for taking my house from me. The possibilities are endless.
“Go on,” he encourages, his hand sliding down to rest on my ribs, his thumb stroking just beneath the curve of my breast. “Don’t stop now, buttercup. You were doing so well.”
Ugh, I nearly melt. Why does him telling me I did well make me ache?
“Don’t stop talking,” I say quickly, urging him on.
He chuckles. “That’s what you like?”
I huff. “More.”
