Page 64 of Bite Me

“Oh?” I unhook the button on her pants, and she sucks in a breath, glancing behind her. “Why is that?”

But it’s just her and me, alone with our echoing breaths. It’s the worst place we could be. I should have tried to prevent this, but I can’t bring myself to regret it, because she’s so fucking beautiful.

I rub my fingers over the warm skin below her belly button.

“I can’t deal with the whiplash anymore. Hate me or don’t hate me. Just take what you want from me, and then we never have to speak again,” she says defiantly.

She squares her shoulders while I rub my thumb at her waistline. Emma tries so hard to keep her lashes from fluttering with every pass of my finger over her skin, but her soft sighs betray her.

“See, I don’t think that’s what you want. You know exactly how to get me to stop. You could quit and never have to see me again but you stay in my way because you like the attention. You call me a stalker, but you don’t treat me like one.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know so many things about you. I know you wear blue glitter on Fridays only and that you love matchas because you have one every morning. I know you’re talented, but restless. Never satisfied.”

She’s studying me, and a soft whimper leaves her lips when my fingers stop.

“Tell me to stop right now. Because I’m not going to, unless you say something.”

Her fingers glide over mine, guiding them lower. When she tries to turn away, I turn her chin back toward me. I need to see her, and more importantly, I need her to see what I’m doing to her.

“This is embarrassing for you,” I whisper near her ear, and her breaths grow deeper.

“I don’t care.”

I don’t know what feels better. The fact that Emma trusts me, or the fact that she really isn’t scared of me after everything. She craves my touch.

“That’s what you want?”

I go lower, under her waistband, her underwear. Lower still—

What the fuck are we doing? Her panting urges me on. I didn’t know she wanted this. I should stop. Leave her unscathed, untouched.

She straightens when my fingers glide over the wetness between her thighs.

“Yeah, I think this is exactly what you want.”

She grabs hold of my jacket when I sink a finger into her, then two. Emma’s soaking my hand with every stroke. I won’t stop, not till I give her exactly what she wants.

“That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re such a . . .” Her words disappear when I pick my pace.

“Yeah? You were saying?”

She rolls her hips into me, failing miserably at stifling the moan on her lips. I don’t care about the noise. I won’t do anything to interrupt this.

“Are you sure, Em? You don’t want me to stop?”

There are no words, but I don’t need any. Her scent, her wetness, say it all. That look of pure abandon is enough, and so is the fact that I’m the one giving this to her. There’s so much satisfaction in it. She came knowingly into my web, and now she’s tangled up, desperate for me.

“You’re so stubborn. You won’t admit you like this . . .”

“I don’t.” She attempts to square her shoulders but shudders when I pull out and slam back into her. She opens her mouth, and her eyes flutter shut.

“Ah . . . Come on . . . Fight a little harder. Tell me to stop.”

“Shut up,” she moans through gritted teeth.