His lips dragged over my pulse. His stubble scraped my skin. One of his hands slid down my side, over my ribs, and stopped at the hem of my tank.
“Tell me you want this,” he said against my throat.
“I already did.”
“Tell me again.”
I opened my eyes to the ugly motel ceiling and the narrow light moving across it. “I want this.”
“This isn’t only you buying time?”
“It is.”
His hand stopped.
I grabbed his wrist and pushed his palm under my tank, over my bare waist. “And I still want this.”
Dex lifted his head.
His face had gone hard in a way that made my pulse pound. Not angry. Not cruel. Stripped down to the last bit of control he’d left.
“You’ll tell me if that changes,” he said.
“I’ll tell you.”
“And if I tell you to stop trying to steal my keys while my hand’s under your shirt?”
“I’ll consider your feedback.”
His thumb brushed my ribs.
I gasped before I could stop it.
Dex’s mouth tilted. “That wasn’t a no.”
“No, Tolliver. It was not.”
His hand slid higher.
My tank dragged up under his knuckles. Cool motel air touched my stomach, then the underside of my breast. His palm followed, warm and rough, and I stopped being clever for one full breath.
He felt too good.
Not just hot. Not just big and hard and close enough to use. His thumb brushed the lower curve of my breast, then higher, until he found my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra.
I arched.
He watched my face.
“Still want to make jokes?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, and my voice came out thinner than planned. “I’m just reorganizing them.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It’s a complex system.”
He pinched lightly.
