“Do you think he can make you forget your name? Make you tremble with need and scream in ecstasy?” He bends forward, running his nose along my jaw.
I shiver, my skin igniting into goose bumps everywhere he breathes. His scent surrounds me—the crispness of his cologne and something that defies explanation. It’s just him.
“Tell me, Leighton. Is he the one you want?”
My hands skirt up his arms and wind around his neck, running through the hair at the back of his head. I’m trembling—not from fear, but from finally being able to stop pretending he’s not the one I think about every time I touch myself. “Please, Hayes.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not getting off that easy. Who do you want, Leighton?”
Another press of his thigh between my legs, and I groan. I can feel the slickness of desire wetting my underwear.
“Do you want him?” he asks again, his hand snaking under one thigh, lifting it so we’re in the same position we were when Easton interrupted us.
“No.” The truth rips free, breaking through the surface.
My pussy is still pressed to his thigh, but he’s not kissing me, and it’s complete and absolute torture to be this close to what I crave and still be denied. His hard heat presses against my hip, and I’m needy in a way I’ve never been before. Desperate for it. For him.
“Then tell me, Leighton, what do you want?”
His hands, his lips, his body entwined with mine. I don’t have it in me to fight anymore. I’m exhausted from fighting my feelings for him. The more he touches me, the more my walls turn to dust.
“You.” I finally grant him the word he’s been waiting for.
His head rears back, searching my eyes as if he wants to double-check before we go any further. But there’s no denying this thing between us, how powerful and all-encompassing our need for each other is.
“About fucking time.”
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Hayes
* * *
My lips are on hers, and my tongue dives into her mouth, my hand sliding higher up her thigh as she melts against me—wanting more, needing more, ready to take whatever she’ll give me.
I can taste how much she wants me. Her desperation for me is an aphrodisiac. I’m done pretending this thing between us is nothing, that it can be stifled, set aside.
I untie the bow on her pants and push her scrubs down. She shimmies, pushing off her shoes and helping me get her pants free. My hand slides under her ass, lifting her higher so her heat grinds where I know she wants it.
She thinks she wants a safe, controlled man? Fuck that. She was made to come apart for me.
“Wrap your leg around me,” I say against her parted lips, dragging her closer, not giving her a chance to pull away again.
She clings to my shoulders, her breath shaky, as she does what I say. I slide my fingers along the inside of her thigh. Her skin is exactly as I dreamed—silky and soft. I can’t wait until I can bury my head between her legs and taste her.
“Hayes—” she whispers as though she needs me, and only me, to take care of her desire.
It fuels the possessive fire already roaring through me, burning up my sanity.
“Say it again.” I push the heel of my hand against her center, and fuck, she’s soaked and swollen and so fucking ready for me.
She gasps then moans, a melody I’ll never get out of my head, chasing it every minute for the rest of my life.
“Hayes,” she moans louder.
“I got you.”
