Page 81 of The Way I Hate Him
Only one way to find out.
Don’t do it,a tiny voice in my head says, but I ignore it as I bring my hands back down her sides, past her ribs, to her hips. The sexy moan of betrayal that falls past her lips only spurs me on as I run my fingertips inward, right to her pubic bone, where she’s completely bare.
Fuck.
Me.
“Touch me,” she whispers. “Please, I’m so wet.”
“Christ,” I groan as I’m tempted to dip my fingers inside her, so tempted that my pinky slips lower, passing over her slit just once. She sucks in a harsh breath, her hips seeking relief, but I give her none.
“Hayes, please.”
“No,” I say softly into her ear. “I refuse to touch you like that.”
“Don’t leave me like this. I’m so turned on. Stop teasing me,” she complains.
“This is all you’ll ever get,” I say as I bring both my hands to her inner thighs and then drag them so dangerously close to her pussy, that the backs of my thumbs barely touch her labia. It’s the lightest touch, but enough for her to groan in frustration.
“Please, Hayes.”
“No,” I say, my brain finally kicking in, taking over as my dick cries out in protest.
“Feel how wet I am.”
“No,” I reply as I drag the tips of my fingers to her breasts, allowing my index fingers to pass over her nipples one last time.
One flick.
One more.
Fuck . . . one more.
“God,” she cries out in frustration as she turns around and faces me.
Her eyes are wild in the moonlight.
Her chest heavy with desire.
And when she stares up at me, I feel this demanding need to crash my mouth against hers.
To claim her.
Mark her.
I slap my hand against the fridge and prop myself up as I grip her hip, steadying myself.
“Fuck me,” she says.
I drop my head and shake it. “No, Hattie. I won’t.”
Her response . . . she cups my length, taking me into the small palm of her hand.
“Mother . . . fucker,” I cry out, a hiss passing my lips at the same time. When I open my eyes, I find hers wide, surprised.
“You’re . . . huge.”
“Another reason you can’t have me. You won’t be able to handle it.”
