“Yes?”
“Do not.”
I run my fingers through her wetness again, spreading it, watching her lips part and her eyes go dark. I stop again and rest my hand on her thigh as if I have simply lost interest, which we both know is the furthest fucking thing from the truth.
She glares at me with an expression that could strip paint off.
“You think you’re being clever,” she says. “You’re being an asshole. If you keep teasing me, I will get off this bed and leave.”
“No you won’t.”
“Try me, Rivera.”
I slide two fingers into her pussy without warning and watch her mouth fall open on a sound she was clearly not prepared to make.
Her hands slam down onto my chest for balance, her nails digging in, and I work her slowly until her thighs are shaking on either side of my hips and her glare has dissolved into something considerably more honest.
“You were saying?” I ask.
“I hate you,” she breathes.
“I know.”
I curl my fingers, and she gasps. I stop, and she gives me the death glare because I am teasing her.
“Oh, so that’s the game we’re playing?” she says.
She reaches down, wraps her fingers around my wrist, and drags my hand away. Her eyes stay locked on mine the whole fucking time as my wet fingers slip free from her pussy, and the look on her face damn near ends me. Furious. Turned on. Dangerous as fuck. The kind that says she wants to slap me, ride me, ruin me, and make me regret every smart-mouthed thing I’ve ever said.
She slides down my body and settles between my legs, looking up at me with an expression that says I’m about to learn what consequences mean in a very personal, very memorable fucking way.
I prop myself up on my elbows.
She reaches for my jeans and slowly lowers the zipper. Slow enough to make every nerve in my body sit up and pay attention.
My eyes drop to the dark, wet patch on the front of my jeans where she was sitting a minute ago. I grin.
“Seems someone’s been enjoying herself.”
Her cheeks go pink.
She holds my gaze anyway, because this girl has never backed down from anything in her life. And she sure as shit isn’t about to start while she’s on her knees between my legs.
“Lift up,” she says, her pissed-off tone leaving no room for negotiation.
And fuck me, that should not affect me the way it does.
There is something about this version of Skylar.
All sharp edges and bruised pride. All fury wrapped in bare skin and stolen fabric. She looks furious enough to ruin me, and I am stupid enough to hand her the weapon.
I lift my hips.
Skylar hooks her fingers into the waistband of my jeans and drags them down. She stands to pull them the rest of the way off my legs, before tossing them onto the floor at the end of the bed, where they land in a useless heap.
My eyes stay on her as hers drop to my cock. It is hard. Heavy. Standing there with no shame, no patience, and no fucking interest in pretending I am not wrecked by her.
She stares at it for a second too long. Long enough for heat to crawl up the back of my neck. Long enough for every dirty thought in my head to sit up and start clapping.
