“Why? Are you jealous?” I prod him, trying to avoid the inevitable, trying to get him to give me some shred of feeling when he’s always locked up so damn tight.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Jealous is only the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I was the man touching you.” His hand takes a tour of my curves as he talks. “The man palming these pretty tits. The man with his head between these thighs making you scream. The man filling up this tight little pussy every night.”
My breathing goes ragged.
“Tell me, Sloane.”
This is one of those things I keep in the dark recesses of my mind, away from the light of day. And now he’s asking me to just admit it?
He adds a third finger and strums my clit with his thumb, making me buck wildly.
“You. It’s always been you.” I spit the words out with force. It’s the only way to get them past the logical part of my brain telling me to keep these secrets locked up tight.
“Of course it has,” he growls. “And now I’m going to remind you why.”
And then his lips crash down on mine, claiming me like I’ve always dreamed he would.
We pour ourselves into this kiss. The good. The bad. The longing. The hurt. The love.
His body softens, and he drapes himself over me, one hand tangling in my hair while the other works between my legs. I adjust, spreading myself and giving him better access. I give myself to him, and he gives a little piece of himself to me.
After all, he’s Jasper. The boy with sad eyes and a heart of gold.
I’ve always trusted him and I always will.
The thought of him, of us, wraps around the magical way his fingers touch me, and I careen toward that edge. My vision goes spotty, my lips feel numb, and an ache unfurls behind my hip bones.
“Jasper,” I whisper between soft, searching kisses. “Oh god. Oh shit. Oh, oh—”
And then I freefall. My body thrashes as a powerful release washes over me. My vison goes fuzzy at the edges while I luxuriate in the most intense orgasm of my life. And Jasper just keeps holding me tight, watching every little move I make with rapt fascination.
With adoration.
Then his lips move down to dot kisses over my entire face. My fingers tangle in his wet hair, and my body softens when he says, “See, Sloane? You can wear someone else’s ring, but we both know you’ve always been mine.”
22
Jasper
I told myself I would only touch her for four seconds.
I told myself I would only kiss her for four seconds.
I told myself I would only be mad about seeing that sparkly fucking ring dusting over my tattoo for four fucking seconds.
And it turns out I’m a big fucking liar.
I’m still touching her. I’ve still got my fingers stuffed in her tight pussy. My lips are still dragging all over her soft fucking skin.
And I’m still furious that she’s wearing that gaudy ring.
Mine.
Why the hell did I tell her that? Why the hell have I gotten so damn possessive since the second I found out she was engaged? Why have I always considered her mine and never felt threatened about it until him?
I am one hundred percent out of control, and I hate this feeling. Intrusive thoughts rapid fire into my head, and my walls crumble.
Ruining our friendship.
Her leaving me.
Her hating me.
I let myself think about those things for four seconds. Then I put them in a box and stash them away with all the other thoughts that eat me alive, including the ones I’ve kept locked up tight about Sloane.
I withdraw from her soft, warm body because I did what I promised—took what I wanted, what she needed—and now we’re going to sleep.
We’ll talk about everything with level heads in the morning when anger and years of pent-up sexual frustration don’t rule us.
From both sides. Because I’m not an idiot. Sloane Winthrop has been turning heads for years, and I’m sure as shit not immune. Her face. Her body. Everything about her is outwardly appealing.
Fucking distracting.
But it’s what’s inside her that’s so special. Her heart. Her brain. Her capacity for empathy.
She’s unusual. She’s too damn prone to do what people tell her so she doesn’t ruffle any feathers. Whether or not she realizes it, she doesn’t need another man in her life controlling her.
And my need to take control is a beast I keep locked inside, away from the girl I’ve put up on a pedestal. I’m not keen to test that shit with the only girl I’ve ever cared about while we’re both feeling so raw.
Because what if I do and she leaves me?
I wouldn’t survive it.
With one last kiss to her warm cheek, I pull back, trying to wrap my head around what the fuck I’ve done in my several seconds of insanity. If four seconds were the goal post, I blew right the fuck past them.
“More,” she murmurs, voice thick with arousal.
My head tips back, and I stare at the ceiling praying for . . . something. My body riots. I want to give her more. Taste her. Roll her over and cover her body with mine. Watch her come apart over and over again.
Her hands reach for me, and my chest aches as I fight off the urge to reach back.
“That’s it tonight, Sunny,” I say, my voice soft yet firm. “Come here.” I open my arms, ready to shove that nasty mattress onto the floor and hold her all night long.
“What do you mean, that’s it?” She turns to face me.
“I mean, that’s it. For tonight.” I trail a hand through my hair, tugging hard as anxiety lances through me.
You’ve already fucked this up, you horny fucking idiot.
“I’m not doing more while you’re angry at me. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You would never hurt me.”
A breath hisses out of me. Hearing her say that physically pains me. It undermines all the guilt I like to walk around with because she’s right. I would never hurt her. “It’s complicated,” is my stupid response.
She sighs. “Things with you always are.” Her hand trails up my forearm. “Tell me what’s wrong, Jas. I can see you freaking out in there.” Her chin gestures toward my head. She’s always known when I’m freaking out. It’s like she has a sixth sense for it.
“I just . . . I like . . .” Fuck. I have no problem telling a random woman what I like sexually. It’s power. It’s control. It’s watching her do exactly what I say. It isn’t just sex, it’s proving to myself that when I tell someone what to do, the outcome is good. I can make it so damn good for them.
“You like what?” Her eyes are wide, her face so perfect, her tone so accepting.
I’d hate for her to see me differently. I want her, but I’m scared of changing us in the process.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s sleep.” My body hums. I may have lent her a hand, but all I’ve done is work myself up all over again in the process.
Her gaze searches my face for a few moments. A frustrated laugh bursts from her lips, her head shaking on the pillow as she reaches down to pull the sheet over her body. “Well, at least you’re consistent with being terrible at talking about your feelings.” She turns over in a huff, muttering, “Boys are so fucking dumb. Thanks for the orgasm.”