Page 44 of On The Edge

And that’s terrifying but not enough to stop my tongue from licking against hers.

Be honorable. Fucking try.

“You’re drunk,” I say.

“So are you.” She fights my hold and, in the process, writhes her hips over me. Damp heat with her ass pressing against my hard-on.

Lord, have mercy.

“This isn’t a good idea.” Oh, how it’s the most perfect fucking idea ever.

“Does it look like I care?” she counters and then licks her tongue up the line of my throat.

She’s Maddix.

She’s not supposed to be sexy.

She’s not supposed to be goddamn desirable.

She’s supposed to be a safe bet. A voice of reason to my chaos. The opposite of temptation.

Not adding to it.

But here we are.

“You’re going to regret this in the morning.” My voice is strained. So is my restraint. Remind me of that after you’re buried balls deep in her, and you’ve come.

“My regret. My problem.”

“But it’s not . . .” Why am I choosing this moment to be honorable? Of all the times in my life. I shake my head to try and think straight. “Maddix. I can’t take advantage of you like this. You’re clearly drunk.”

A slow, seductive smile crawls over her lips as she leans down and whispers in my ear. “Then fuck me till I’m sober so I can make the right decisions.” Then she laughs, and every part of me is desperate for her.

It’s the freest sound I’ve heard from her and when I look up, my breath catches in my fucking throat. She’s bathed in moonlight. Her skin. Her perfect fucking tits that are pressed against the white fabric of the thinnest tank top known to man. Her chest rises and falls, her lips are swollen and pouting, and her eyes are begging me for this.

Fuck me till I’m sober.

Her name is a groan on my lips. The last ties on my restraint fraying with every touch of her lips to my skin and the fisting of my hands at my sides.

“I feel out of control. My life. People’s judgments of me. What happens tomorrow. Let me feel like I’m controlling something.” She flicks her tongue over my nipple.

Control me. By all fucking means.

Her eyes look up to meet mine, her grin seductive. “Pretty please.”

“I’m not the right guy for this. For you. I . . . I’m drunk too. I’m too . . .” My excuses are lame and fall flat.

I’m far from drunk. I’m stone-cold sober and so fucking desperate to not stop what she’s doing.

She reaches back and grabs my cock with one hand. I groan involuntarily and my eyes roll back in my head. “You’re drunk? Doesn’t seem to matter in this department.” She scrapes her fingernails over me and my cock jerks in response. She chuckles. “Stop thinking, Cruz. Start acting.”

“I’m trying to be respectful.” The minute the words are out, I groan as she grinds her ass against me again.

“I’m not in the mood to be respected.” She pulls her tank top off, and her hair falls to sit above the dusty pink of her nipples. They’re even more fucking perfect than I thought they were. “I’m sowing my oats, Cruz. Isn’t that what you said I needed to do? Sow them? So it can either be you or it can be someone else, but I’m going to fucking sow them tonight.”

“This isn’t fair.” I scrub a hand through my hair as my other one grabs on to her hip.

She laughs. “Life isn’t fair. Isn’t that why we’re both here? Both stuck with each other?” Then she edges backwards, her pussy sliding over my bare cock and, fucking hell, my hips jerk in response.