What if I’m throwing away something real for someone like Jace? For someone whose reputation comes with warnings and headlines that call him a player, a flirt—a guy who probably says all the right things to get what he wants. A man who’s used to girls melting for him. Is that all I am to him? A body? A conquest?
“Get out of that pretty head, baby.” I feel his hand against my thigh, sliding up slowly. It’s not rushed, not demanding. He’s giving me time. He kisses the corner of my mouth, then the edge of my jaw, then my throat.
My heart stutters, and my body arches into his as his fingers skim higher.
“Jace…” I can’t say the words out loud. That I’ve never done this before.
I’ve never had anyone on top of me, never had anyone’s hands sliding up the inside of my thighs.
“My name sounds so good on your smart little mouth,” he murmurs against my skin, his lips brushing the side of my neck.
Oh God. Am I really about to let my brother’s teammate be my first?
His hand brushes over the front of my panties, and I jolt with a gasp.
“Sensitive, huh?” His voice is thick. “You’ve made such a mess of those panties.”
The sensation of someone touching me down there is so new and foreign that my entire body seizes. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth—slow and soft. Then another, just below my jaw.
A whimper escapes my throat.
“You gonna let me finish what I started?” he murmurs, voice slipping into something even lower, filthier.
His hand lingers between my legs, just brushing over the fabric of my panties. But it’s enough to make me lose my mind.
I’m frozen in this storm of guilt and heat and confusion.
It’s like he can hear the war in my head, because he leans in, lips grazing my ear.
“Talk to me, baby.” His voice is soft. “You wanna stop, we stop.”
My chest rises and falls as my mind and body keep fighting.
“You want me to leave, I’ll walk out that door. I won’t touch you again.” He pulls back a little to look at me. “But if you want meto stay, you need to show me. Cause I’m not about to guess when your pussy’s this wet and your mind’s a fucking mile away.”
He pulls back, propping himself up with one thick, veiny arm. He looks at me, tense, hungry, holding back.
You need to show me.
And I do. My hand moves before I can think it through. Between us. Shaky fingers sliding down the front of his shorts until they land on him.
My hand palms him—thick and hard, hot even through the fabric. My stomach spasms, and my thighs clamp around him. Even though I felt it pressed against me, it’s different to actually feel him with my hand.
His entire body goes still, like I flipped a switch. His lips are parted, and his chest expands with a sharp intake of air. Then, he lets it out, a slow grin spreading across his face.
I look down at my hand, then back up at his face.
Yep. I definitely just did that.
“Does that answer your question?” I breathe out, overcome by a sudden wave of satisfaction from the way my touch is affecting him.
“Loud and fucking clear,” he rasps, jaw clenched, eyes suddenly darker than sin.
Holding his weight with his left arm, he slides his right one between us, covers my hand with his, and grinds himself against my palm.
My eyes flutter shut at the feeling, my legs automatically parting for him.
“You feel that?” he repeats. “That’s what happens when you’re around me. That’s what happens every time you open that smart mouth of yours.”
