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I can’t get attached. My confidence has taken a beating this past year and I can’t let myself be in a position where I’m crying over another failure.
“I can’t get you out of my head, either.” I tilt my face up to his, my mouth so close that each word causes my lips to brush against his jaw. “But I don’t want you there.”
His hands come to my hair, cradling my head. The hold is possessive, dominant. I don’t let my eyes leave his, showing him I’ll hold my own no matter what. Just like in the game, he might not expect me to win.
But I will.
“Then tell me to go,” he rasps. His voice is like gravel and dirt roads, like warm sunshine and a hot bath and the tastiest dessert. “Tell me to leave right fucking now.”
This is it—a fork in the road.
Say it. Just do the adult thing and tell him to leave so you can be proud of yourself in the morning.
But would I be proud? I’m a grown woman. I can handle casual sex without getting attached. I can handle a guy like Rowan Lively, even if he looks like he’s a whole galaxy out of my league.
And he wants me.
“Tell me to go.” His hands tighten in my hair.
I don’t want to. I release the door and let it swing shut, my eyes still trained on his, issuing a challenge.
“Don’t you dare treat this like anything but sex,” I tell him. “When we’re working on the show, it’s work. We don’t talk about this. We don’t think about this.”
“I’lldefinitelybe thinking about it.” He pushes me against the door, rattling the wood in its hinges. “You can bet on that.”
His breath is hot against my cheek, his hips pressing against mine. He’s hard as stone through his jeans and our eyes are engaged in battle. I want to show him that I’m his equal. That I won’t bend to him. But the second he grinds against me, that hard cock rubbing at my sex, the moan that escapes me reveals every one of my dirty little secrets.
I’m hot for Rowan Lively...and I’ll let him burn me alive.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rowan
IBRINGMYmouth down to hers, coaxing her lips open so I can taste her. It’s sweet, sweet victory. My free hand snakes around her lower back, and she arches into me. God, it’s like heaven and hell. If the guys she’s dated don’t appreciate what a firecracker she is, that’s on them.
Emery holds me tight, her fingers gripping my hair as she kisses me back. This is no chaste let’s-take-it-slow kiss—it’s raw and desperate. A battle for power. Her breath quickens and her lips devour mine, tongue swirling and teeth nipping.
Yes.
She grabs the back of my head, holding me to her with a determination that makes my body throb and pulse. But then she pulls back.
“Can we go to your place?” Her eyes are wide, blackened.
I blink. “Uh, sure. Why?”
“I just...” Her gaze lowers and it’s sweet and vulnerable and like her cactus spikes have receded for a second. “I already can’t look at my couch after what happened.”
I laugh and the sound rumbles around in my chest, genuine and warming. “You’re worried I’m going to defile more of your furniture?”
“Something like that. Is that weird?”
“Nah, it just means I’m doing a good job.” I pull her away from the door and open it. We sneak into my apartment, laughing like two misbehaving teenagers.
As soon as we’re through the door, I hoist her up. She moans against my mouth, wrapping her arms around my neck and crossing her ankles at my back. My cock presses against the sweet spot between her thighs. She’s warm. Needy. Ready.
I carry her across the room, almost clipping the edge of the couch. I have plans for tonight. Plans for her. For us.
She moans as each step causes me to rub against her. “I want you.” Her voice is rough and it’s the best sound in the world.
