“Well, it’s true. I am stupid.”
I grab her arm and haul her against the wall, pinning her with my body. The tension between us sizzles and electrifies.
“Don’t,” I pant out, “say it.”
She lifts her chin, defiant. “Stupid.”
I wrap my fingers around her throat, not squeezing, just to hold her there, so she can’t wiggle away and deflect.
“Take it back,” I say, my face inches from hers. Her peach scent is overwhelming, making me dizzy. “Take it back right fucking now.”
“Or what?”
“I’m going to tell you what you are,” I say, my thumb tracing the line of her neck. “You’re smart. You’re strong. You survived.”
“Stop it,” she whispers, but there’s no force behind it.
“You’re beautiful,” I continue, unable to stop the words now that they’ve started. “Your mouth. Your eyes. Your fucking scent that’s driving me out of my mind every second you’re in this house.”
“Pierce…”
“You’re gorgeous. You’re funny. You’re perfection.”
She wiggles and tries to look away. I force her back to me with my thumb on her chin.
“Say it,” I demand, pressing closer, squeezing her neck a little. I can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Say you’re beautiful.”
“I can’t,” she says, voice breaking.
“Yes, you can.” My lips are an inch from hers. “Say it, Ash.”
She shakes her head.
I bump her head gently into the wall.
“I need to hear you say it. I need you to see yourself like I do.”
Her breath hitches, eyes locked on mine.
“Say it, Ash. I’m beautiful. Say it.”
For a moment, everything hangs suspended between us, so tight we are both going to break.
“I’m beautiful,” she finally whispers, so soft I barely hear it.
I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp. Her lips part instantly, and I can taste her, sweet and warm and so fucking perfect. And she kisses me back, hungrier. Her hands are in my hair, and she wraps a leg around my hip, like she’s afraid I’m going to let her go. I am never going to let her go.
“Pierce,” she breathes against my mouth.
I groan, pressing her harder against the wall, my hips pinning hers in place.
“Fuck me,” she moans, letting go just long enough to gather up the edges of Beckett’s T-shirt. She is, in fact, wearing nothing under it except her panties. My dick was already hard, but now my knot is throbbing.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband, drag the panties down her hips. My fingers trace up her inner thigh. She’s drenched, dripping with slick.
“You’re so wet.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
