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“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his lips inches away from mine.
“I don’t know what I want. I don’t need you to fight. To do whatever. We’re over,” I whisper, leaning into him.
He spreads his legs open, one on either side of mine. “Do you still think about me?
I shake my head.
“Do you still think about us?”
“No,” I say, not believing it myself.
“No?” he whispers. “Never?”
“No, never,” I yell in his face. I grab his shirt, holding it between my clenched fists. Turning him, I push him against the door and he lets me. “I don’t want to remember you, dream about you, and I sure as hell do not love you,” I say, standing on my tiptoes.
Licking his lips, his eyes roam from mine to my eyes and back again. That slow, crooked smile steals my breath.
I let out a shaky moan, the throbbing between my legs intensifying. “I don’t cry about you, about us, about what we had. So you can go screw yourself!” I push myself against him, feeling his length growing.
He tries to take my head between his hands again but I grab them and push them next to his shoulders, holding him prisoner. He spreads his legs more, making sure we’re on eye level.
“I think about this,” I say, and before he can register what I’m doing, I kiss him hard.
He groans into my mouth and the rumble goes right to the place between my thighs. I press them together, leaning against his chest, kissing him, tasting his lips, feeling the stubble of his cheek against my forehead. His head falls back as I lick his neck before tracing the scar running next to his left eye with the tip of my tongue. His legs quiver when I rub my core against his, feeling him stabbing my stomach.
“What are you doing?” His voice is husky. “I thought you hated me.” He grins.
“I do,” I purr, kissing his lips and loving the way his stubble feels against my mouth. “This is only—”
“Sex,” he finishes for me, hurt underlining the word.
I let go of his hands and he rests them on my waist.
“I guess it is,” I whisper, looking into his eyes.
“This is what you want from me then?” he asks, his voice casual.
“Yes.”
“You want me to fuck you while the guys are getting wasted in the backyard?” The tips of his fingers trail my spine.
“I guess I do. That was the only thing you were ever good at: screwing me over.” The venom in my voice has him moving back. Fuck, I am a bitch.
“Nothing else?” He shakes his head and the hurt in his smile tears my heart right open.
I know what he wants. But I don’t know if I can ever give him that again.
“Nothing else?” He grabs the back of my neck and before he kisses me, he says with a husky drawl, “How do you want it? Slow and steady, or hard and fast? As I recall, you liked both ways. Didn’t you?” he grumbles, leaning down in front of me, getting in my face.
The look in his eyes makes me shudder. My hands tear at his belt. Popping open the button, I unzip his fly, and slowly rub my palm over his hard length, feeling his thickening cock pressing against the top of his briefs. He moans. Sweat beads on his forehead as I push my hand deeper inside his boxers, taking him in my hand.
“Fuck, babe, I can’t,” he groans, staring at me through half-closed lids. He leans his head against the door, grabbing my wrist.
“Can’t or won’t?” I ask.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at me his dark gaze roaming my face, still hard as a rock, pressing himself against me.
Having him between my hands, everything rushes back. All the ways we made love. Our mouths crashing into each other, the smell of sex hanging around us the morning after. Him tickling me with his stubble. I used to love watching him shave back at the house in California.
