"Are you?"
"Mmm." She runs her hand down her side. Over her hip. Trails her fingertips along the fabric gathered at her thigh. "Everywhere."
She walks past me. Close enough that I catch her scent—coconut lotion and the faint salt of perspiration and something underneath, something warm and alive that's justher. It hits me low and immediate.
She pauses. Turns her head just enough.
"Want to know a secret?"
"What's that?"
Her hand slides down. Between her legs. Over the fabric of her dress. She cups herself through the material—one deliberate press—and I watch her fingers flex.
Then she brings her hand up. Her fingertips glisten in the slanted light.
"I've been wet since we left the venue."
She says it like she's noting the weather. Casual. Informational.
But she's showing me her fingers. Showing me the evidence. And something behind her eyes dares me to do something about it.
My control snaps.
"Come here."
"Why?"
"Jane."
She smiles. Slow. Knowing. The smile of a woman who has spent eight days learning exactlyhow to dismantle me. "Make me."
I cross the room in three strides. She backs up until she hits the wall—shoulders flat against it, chin tilted up, pulse visible in her throat.
I cage her in. Hands on either side of her head. Close enough to feel her breath against my mouth but not touching. Not yet.
"You've been teasing me this entire walk back."
"Have I?" All wide-eyed innocence. A performance so deliberate it's practically a confession.
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"Do I?"
I lean in. My mouth next to her ear. Close enough that my lips brush the shell of it when I speak.
"You made me need you. You know that?"
She shivers. A full-body tremor that I feel through the wall. "Good."
Her hand slides between us. Cups me through my dress pants. I'm already hard. Aching. The pressure of her palm makes my vision narrow.
"I can tell," she whispers.
I grab her wrist. Pin it above her head against the wall. The movement is fast—hockey reflexes, twelve years of instinct—and her breath catches. Not from fear. Her pupils blow wide and her back arches away from the wall, pressing her chest toward me.
"You want to play games?"
"Maybe."
