Page 102 of The Way I Hate Him
“Nice try, Hattie,” I say, taking steadying breaths to regain some semblance of control over my body.
She just stares at me, breathing heavily for a few moments before she huffs something under her breath and turns away, curling into her pillow.
Do I feel bad?
No.
She brought this on herself.
Do I wish I could rip that shirt off her and pay more attention to those delicious tits?
Yes.
But instead, I’m going to drive home the storyline she wants me to play out between us, the one where I’m the dick who tortures her.
I reach across the bed, curl my hand around her waist, and then with one pull, I bring her straight to my chest on a gasp.
“What are you doing?” she asks as her ass lines up with my hard-on.
Speaking closely to her ear, I say, “Do you feel that?” I press her in even closer. “Do you feel what you did to me?”
“Y-yes,” she says, her voice shaky as I slide my hand up her stomach. The rise and fall of her chest spurs me on as I brush my thumb lightly across the underside of her breast. “God,” she says as I do it again, enjoying her reaction and the softness of her skin. I could easily get lost in her. She’s so responsive, needy, the perfect combination for what I want when it comes to a woman.
I move my palm up to her breast and cup her, rolling my thumb over her nipple, just a brief pass, but it elicits a moan from her as she presses her ass against my painful erection. I move my hips against hers, seeking friction, just enough to make me starve for more.
With my forefinger and thumb, I gently pinch her nipple, the tiny nub pebbled, begging for more. I want to give her more. I want to tear this top off and bury my head between her small breasts. I want to lick them, suck them, play with them until she can’t breathe anymore and all she can focus on is her release.
“Fuck, Hayes. More,” she begs, the sound of her throaty voice such a turn-on, but . . . fuck, what am I doing?
The point of playing with her was to show her I have control and she doesn’t, yet with every grip of her breast, every roll of her nipple, my control is slipping.
And it can’t.
I can’t fucking lose. Not with so much on the line. Not with the thought of Ryland in the back of my head.
So I pause, and even though I can hear the beat of my own heart in my ears, as well as the need to fuck this woman deep in the marrow of my bones, I say, “This is the difference between you and me . . . I know how to control myself, whereas you don’t.” I push away, putting distance between us and scooting to my side of the bed.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asks as she turns toward me in bed, a furious look on her face highlighted by the moonlit room. “What the hell, Hayes?”
“Do you have a problem?”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes now furious. “You’re messing with me.”
“No, I’m being exactly what you wanted. You asked for this. You started it.”
“I did not ask for you to lie next to me and tease me.” She shakes her head. “Do you truly think you can fuck around with me?”
“I told you, I’m not interested in you in that way.”
“Then why even bother with all of this?” she asks, waving her hand about.
“You’re here for a job. You’re the one who brought on the intimacy.”
“And you keep feeding into it,” she practically yells. “And not to mention, you’re the one who held my hand almost the whole drive down here. So tell me what that was about.”
“It’s called comforting someone. I thought you needed it.”
“That’s not comforting. That’s sending mixed signals.”
