“I want you,” my voice trembled, mirroring my body. “I want... this.” The words left me in a sharp exhale. Victory flashed in his eyes, the air around us shifting as an understanding settled between us.
I did hate him.
I hated that he made me feel so alive, so desired.
I hated the way he knew exactly how to kiss me, touch me, to get me to fall at his feet.
But most of all I hated how I didn’t hate him, not even a little bit.
“Relax,” he said as if he knew I was all up in my head. “If it makes you feel any better, I hate you too.” His thumb brushed my neck slowly before he chased his touch with his lips. “I hate how I can’t stop thinking about you.” Kiss. “I hate that you say the most ridiculous things.” Kiss. “But most of all I hate that Thatcher and his goon had their hands on you. I hate...” His lips touched my skin again as my heart crashed against my ribcage.
This wasn’t the plan.
He wasn’t supposed to say all of this, to feed the small part of me dreaming of a different time and place. A time and place where Felicity Giles could ever end up with a guy like Jason Ford.
I waited for his words, greedy for more. But they never came, replaced with hot kisses as he dragged his tongue up and down the hollow of my throat. Disappointment flooded my chest but deep down, I wasn’t surprised. Jason would never admit the truth. That there was something between us. That this was more than just sex. And for as much as it hurt, maybe it was better this way.
His hands were all over me now, his mouth the same.
“Jason,” I said, gently tugging his hair. “Slow down.”
He lifted his face, brow arched. I took advantage of the moment, pushing my hands against his chest to move him back. Then I fumbled around to find the recline handle and pulled.
“What the fuck?” he grunted, and I stifled a giggle. Jason needed control. He needed to hold all the power. But this time, I wanted to be in the driving seat.
I wanted to drive him wild.
“What game are you playing, Giles?” he asked, his hands gripping my hips as I gently rocked above him. We both groaned, and another thrill shot through me. He was at my mercy now.
With my newfound confidence, I hooked my hands into the waistband of my leggings and pushed them down over my hips. It was no easy feat getting them off, but I managed. If Jason noticed my clumsy striptease, he didn’t comment, his hooded gaze too busy eating up every inch of my bare skin.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Yeah, fuck. His words were like a poisoned arrow through my heart.
As if he noticed my hesitation, challenge glinted in his eye. He was ready to pounce, to take back the power and flip this whole thing on me. But I wasn’t backing down. I wasn’t just a pawn in his game.
I was the goddamn queen.
And this queen wanted her king to kneel at her feet.
Sliding my hands around my ribs, I unhooked my bra and let it slide down my arms. Jason didn’t speak, he didn’t have to. His eyes betrayed every thought running through his head, and even though I knew it was only temporary, I had him right where I wanted him.
“Take it off,” I demanded, my eyes fixed on his jersey.
“Okay, I’ll play, babe.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned forward to yank his jersey off. He was so beautiful; a perfectly sculpted Adonis. Who in this moment, was mine. Not Jenna Jarvis’ or the gymnast team’s. Not Rixon High’s or the team’s or even the town’s.
Mine.
But you can’t keep him, Felicity. Don’t forget that. Never forget that.
My hands trailed down his abs, counting every ridge until my fingers hovered precariously close to the waistband of his sweats. Without giving myself any time to hesitate, I gently pulled, waiting for Jason to lift his butt off the chair so I could wiggle them off his hips.
Holy crap. He was rock hard.
His smooth chuckle sliced through the tension crackling around us. My eyes lifted to his. “What?” I asked.
“I’m just wondering if you’re brave enough—”