“You’re not supposed to say shit like that.”
His hand slips from my face and rests on my thigh, claiming the space.The heat radiates instantly from his touch, spreading through me until my thoughts fray.
I have to bite my lip to stop myself from saying what I truly want.
And that means asking him to slide his hand higher, slip it under my skirt—do that thing he did at his place, the one that made my back arch and my voice vanish, the one that turned my legs to jelly and rewired my brain around his touch.
My body recalls before my mind can argue.It leans into him, betraying every sensible thought I came in here with.
I need to stop these thoughts.I should be smarter.But all I want is his hand back where it was that day.His mouth on my neck.Fingers making me fall apart.
“Kiss me.”
The words leave my mouth before I can talk myself out of them, before fear, pride, or common sense has a chance to pull me back.I’ve never been this reckless or this honest, but I need him just as desperately as I need air in my lungs.
He blinks, unsure if he heard me correctly, as if the words haven’t fully registered yet.
Then his hand tenses on my thigh.
“Say it again,” he says, voice hoarse.
I don’t.I just keep moving.
Swinging one leg over, I straddle him in a single, breathless motion, careful not to press too hard against his ribs.His breath punches out against my throat, his eyes darken, and his hands instinctively find my hips.
“Are you sure, Red?”he murmurs, all rough-edged restraint.
I nod.“Kiss me.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, he closes the distance.
His lips meet mine with a scorching heat, rough and hungry, but beneath it all, there’s a quiet message that he needed this just as much as I did.
I kiss him harder, fingers sliding into his sweat-damp hair.He groans, deep in his chest, and I feel it vibrate through both of us.
His body’s worn out from the game.I can feel it in the way he moves, slower, more cautious, the wince that flashes across his face when he shifts.But he doesn’t stop.
I grind down on his hard cock, and he swears, his hands flexing on my hips.
“Fuck, Red,” he mutters against my mouth.“You’re gonna kill me.”
“Then die happy,” I whisper back.
And I kiss him once more.
His mouth opens beneath mine, needy and rough.His hands slide under my shirt, palms pressing against my lower back, pulling me closer, pressing our bodies together until only heat and friction remain.
He winces.His body tightens as one hand slips from my back to brace against his ribs.
Shit, fuck… don’t stop,” he growls when I begin to pull back.“It’s worth the pain.”
He watches me.I stay still, my lungs tight, as his hand slowly slides up my thigh.He doesn’t rush.He draws it out, testing me, daring me to stop him.
I don’t.
My skin prickles when he gets closer to where I need him most.Fuck, I’m already wet, aching, already too far gone to pretend I don’t want this.
He’s watching me, not the way a guy checks out a girl, but the way someone studies art, trying to understand how it exists.I stay quiet, but my chest rises faster, and my legs tense under his touch.His fingers pause just short of my pussy, eyes searching mine.
