Want to just—jump him.
Right here.
Right now.
My hands come up, almost without permission, brushing his sides, gripping the fabric of his shirt.
And he indulges a minute or two more, but then—he pulls back.
Just like that.
Like he’s the one with control.
Like he didn’t just light me on fire.
We’re both breathing harder now.
My lips feel swollen.
My head feels fuzzy.
And his hands—Gods.
His hands are everywhere.
One at my hip, fingers digging in just enough to ground me.
The other at the back of my neck, holding me there like he doesn’t quite trust himself to let go.
“You don’t know how hard it is to stop right now,” he says, voice rough, strained in a way that sends a shiver straight down my spine. “But I need you to trust me before we go further.”
My heart stutters.
Because further sounds—yeah.
Dangerous as hell.
“Who says we’re going any further?”
“You know you can’t lie to me. Can’t pretend like you don’t want me as much as I want you. So, when I fuck you, Cookie,” he continues, blunt and certain and making my knees go weak, “and yeah, I’m going to fuck you?—”
My breath catches.
“—it won’t be in a lusty haze you can talk yourself out of. It’ll be for keeps.”
I make a noise—like an almost choke.
His thumb brushes lightly along my jaw, grounding me again.
“Tell me you understand.”
I swallow.
My voice comes out softer than I expect.
“I understand.”
His expression shifts.
