“On that mountain runaway lane. To your dad’s maneuvering. To him,” he adds, eyes dropping to the ring on my finger, the one that clearly did not prevent me from crossing that line with Jasper at all.
“Then fucking take me back already! I’ve been dreaming of you for literal years and never knew you saw me as anything other than a friend.” He flinches but I’m done holding back. “I’ve been licking those wounds for so damn long, Jasper. And you’ve been too chickenshit to say anything. So say it already. Tell me what you want!”
He groans and drops his head for a beat before leveling me with his midnight stare. “That’s what I want. That’s what I get off on. Telling you what to do and having you listen. Control.” His cheeks flush bright under his stubble. “I’ve tried not to. But with everything that’s happened in my life, it’s just become . . .” He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Part of me. But I don’t want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable just to give me that. That’s not what you need. It’s not what I want for you. I see you. I see what you’ve been through. I’ve seen these men in your life telling you what to do, using you as a pawn. And I don’t want to be another asshole telling you what to do.”
Arousal unfurls in my gut, heat leeching out into the tip of every limb. “Don’t you get it, Jas? I’ve seen all the darkest parts of you and I’m still here. I still want more. Stop trying to scare me away. It isn’t going to work.”
He looks pained now.
“I don’t want to be another man who—”
My hand slashes out in front of me, and I cut him off. “You talk about not telling me what to do, that you don’t want to let me down, but I’m sick of being treated like I’m too fragile or too pristine. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress! So stop treating me like one. I’m not a trophy. You aren’t telling me to do anything! I’m telling you I want you to take me, and you’re sitting here, patting my head like I’m stupid, telling me I don’t know what I want. If I don’t like something, I will fucking tell you. But for the love of god, stop deciding what I like or don’t like. What I can or cannot endure. What feels good or doesn’t. Stop holding back with me.”
My breathing is labored by the time I finish. Saying what’s on my mind feels good. I feel empowered and frustrated and . . . alive.
“How many times do I need to tell you for you to believe me? Before I get to hear it back?” I shake my head in disbelief at this man I know so damn well, yet not at all. “It’s always been you, Jasper. It will always be you.”
I sigh heavily. “Please tell me what to do with that.”
25
Jasper
I listen to Sloane, all fierce and determined, laying into me and being so damn right.
She’s telling me to take what I want, taking what she wants, and there’s nothing holding me back. They’ve found Beau. I’ll be able to get back to the team. The only thing left unfinished is Sloane and me.
The restraint inside of me snaps as I stare back at her. Chest heaving. Cheeks flushed. It’s like a shoelace tugged too fucking tight. I’ve been pulling back so hard that my steady hand flies back with the weight of my resistance.
Fair, unfair. Appropriate, inappropriate. It all fades away under the simmering rage and arousal of so many missed years with this woman. We came close to missing so much more.
I don’t want to miss another second. And she told me to stop holding back.
My voice comes out harsh and gravelly when I say, “Take your clothes off, Sloane.”
She startles ever so slightly, but her top teeth sink into her bottom lip, and I know she wants this just as badly as I do.
I push myself back into the countertop behind me so that I have a better view across the open living space, feeling the bite of the edge against my palms. If this is what she wants, I plan to take my time.
I plan to savor her.
If Sloane says she can handle me, then she’s right . . . Who am I to tell her she can’t?
She flicks open the top of her baggy jeans and drops them around her slender ankles before stepping out of them. Those crystal blue eyes don’t leave mine for a single second. Holding my gaze, she unbuttons the soft flannel shirt she’s wearing, light pink and cream plaid falling open to expose the unpadded pink lace bralette hugging her breasts.
I rake my eyes over her long, lean limbs. Pink scraps of nothing cover the places where I plan to spend the entire night.
When the shirt clears her wrists and falls to the floor behind her, a smirk touches her lips. She stands there not looking the least bit self-conscious.
In fact, the way her tongue slides over her lips tells me she’s nothing short of eager.
There’s an alluring blush to her pale cheeks, and her skin, lit only by the floor lamp in the corner, has a golden glow.
“All of them.” I gesture a hand down her body, watching the flush creep over her collarbones and toward her nipples that are pushing against the delicate fabric.
When she removes the bralette, I don’t bother pretending I’m not staring at her body. Her breasts are perfect, small and perky, with pale, dusky nipples pointing straight at me. Begging for my attention.
I groan at the sight and watch her thighs clamp together. Her stomach clenches.
“I bet you’re fucking soaked,” I murmur, watching her thumbs hook into the waistband of the matching panties.
She tilts her head and gives me a coy shrug. My dick twitches.
When her panties are down around her ankles where they belong, I peruse my way back up her legs, pausing on her pussy and the glimmer of wetness between her soft lips. “You’re perfect.”
“Thank you,” she whispers back, breathless.
I lick my lips and adjust myself in my pants. This is pure torture, but I think we both like it. We’re both about the anticipation. The ten feet that still separate us practically hum with it.
“Use one finger—only one—and show me how wet you are, Sloane.”
Her chest rises and falls while her eyes remain latched onto my face. Arousal is written all over her, and the little voice in my head that told me she might hate me if I revealed this domineering side of myself stays blissfully quiet.
I see a sparkle in her eye. No hesitation. Instead, a challenge.
Her hand slides down her stomach, and with a quiet moan, she pushes one slender finger into her pussy.
It slips right in, confirming what I already knew. Seconds later she holds one trembling hand up, index finger soaked with her arousal.
“Are you nervous?”
“No. God no,” is her response.
“Good. Now put that finger in your mouth and clean it off.”
A light, disbelieving chuckle escapes her, and I can’t help but crack a smile. Only she would laugh right now. As she turns her palm toward her face, showing me the back of her hand, the smile melts from my face. Because my eyes catch on a flash of light attached to her finger as she slides it between her lips.
My fingers grip the counter behind me, to the point of pain, while I try to hold back the green-eyed monster.
But I fail.
“Sloane.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, still sucking on her finger, giving me blue doe eyes.