“Do I also deserve this?” I whisper. “Because it sounded like it’s all for me.”
“It’s not,” she pants, hand wrapped around my wrist.
But she doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t pull my hand away.
Instead, she pulls my hand toward her.
I press two fingers against her and part her lips. My thumb finds her clit, and her sharp breaths turn into gasps.
Her knees almost buckle, but I catch her—one hand wrapping around her waist, the other sliding over her pussy, circling her clit.
“Say that again,” I whisper against her ear. “Lie to me. Tell me you don’t want me inside you right now.”
She whimpers and rolls her hips against my hand, eyes fluttering closed.
“You think avoiding me fixes this?” I growl. “You think pretending this isn’t happening makes it go away?”
I press her harder against the wall, claiming every inch of space around her.
Her hands grab my wet shirt, clinging like she needs something to hold her up.
“You think that guilty little conscience of yours can save you, baby?” I murmur, my mouth tracing a slow line down her jaw to her racing pulse.
She moans out through gritted teeth, trying so hard to resist it, to keep those little sounds in.
“Jace,” she moans, tilting her head back.
I nip at her throat and drag my tongue over her collarbone while I work her harder.
“You don’t get to shut me out and then call my name when no one’s listening,” I growl. “You don’t get to run from me.”
She whimpers and clamps a hand over her mouth while the other clutches my soaked shirt.
I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull her hand away from her mouth.
I want to taste her. I want to taste her truth—her desire. I want to swallow her moans, drown in them.
My fingers keep rubbing while I use my free hand to pull her toward me by her neck until her lips meet mine.
My chest presses to her wet skin, and I can feel everything—every tremble, every twitch, every broken little sound she makes as I kiss her.
Just when I think she’s about to give in, she pulls back.
“Stop.”
Her hands are shaking as they push at my chest. Her eyes are wide, guilt pouring out of her like blood from a wound.
“I can’t…” she gasps. “I can’t do this again.”
She slips out from under me and rushes out of the shower to grab a towel.
She wraps it around herself in one frantic motion and runs out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
I’m standing under the water—soaked, hard, and furious.
Not at her. At myself.
My fists are clenched at my sides as the water beats down over me like punishment.
