Page 77 of Forever Defiant
Her mouth found mine again, now desperate, needy in a way that sparked something primal and stupid in my chest. I kissed her back as if I’d been starving for her — because maybe I had. She tugged me closer, and I hadn’t realized there was any space left to give. I shifted over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding along her side and down to cup her ass, as she melted into the cushions.
The couch creaked under us. Neither of us cared.
Her hands moved again — up my back this time, nails scraping just enough to make me groan. I dipped my forehead to hers, breathing hard.
“This—” I kissed her — “is a—” I kissed her again — “very bad idea.”
“Then stop,” she whispered.
I kissed her harder instead. She pushed my shirt up, insistently, wanting it off.
“Peterson,” I warned, voice low, strained. “If we don’t slow down—”
“Do you want to slow down?”
No. God no.
I kissed her again — deep, slow, intentional — because if I admitted the truth out loud, nothing would stop this. She whimpered softly into my mouth, and I felt something inside me snap, clean and irreversible. I lowered my weight over her, just enough for her to feel exactly what she was doing to me, and her breath caught in a way that made my vision blur. I pressed my hips into hers, nestling righttherebetween her legs, grinding against the spot she needed me most, and I wanted to be inside her, fucking her, until neither of us could think.
Every thought evaporated. I wanted her. I wanted her so badly it scared me. I’d wanted her that first night I kissed her. I wanted her the night that I went back to the bar, looking for her. I wanted her now, here, on this couch, consequences be damned.
I tugged down the waistband of her leggings, my fingers digging inside, running along the elastic of her underwear. I needed to touch her.
There was a sudden knock on the apartment door that thundered through the room, and we both froze.
Her chest rose and fell under mine in sharp, shallow breaths. My forehead dropped to her shoulder as I fought for control I’d already lost.
She swallowed. “You . . . should . . . get off me.”
“Yeah,” I rasped, not moving.
Another knock. Louder this time.
We pulled apart guiltily.
I sank back onto the couch, breathing heavily, running my hand over my face as if that would reset reality. Hadley pushed her hair back, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and completely wrecked — and the sight of her almost pulled me right back in.
“We’re not done,” I said, voice rough as she pulled her legs free of me.
She looked up at me — nervous, wanting, unsure — and whispered, “I know.”
The knock came again. I didn’t break eye contact.
“Later,” she mumbled, and stood up. I let her walk away, even though every muscle was protesting the distance she was putting between us. “Grab Milly for me.”
The cat meowed, and I looked at it, almost laughing. Jesus, even the cat was judging me.
Hadley opened the door, stepped aside, and I met Dante’s level look as he walked into her apartment. He had a baseball cap pulled low and his hoodie over it. The look we shared told me exactly what he was thinking.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he said conversationally, not looking around, not even noticing the cat who was glaring at the stranger in her space.
QB focus turned up to a million.
“Yeah, did you see the van outside? That’s why I’m here,” I told him.
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Mmhmm. There are no other places to hide out?” He glanced down. “You should fix your shirt.” He turned to Hadley. “Savannah can’t help you,” he told her bluntly. “Using Dustin as an in? Not cool.”
Hadley’s mouth dropped. “What?”
