The silk of her dress is soft under my fingers, her body warm. Every step she takes, her hair swishes in front of me and the strong honey and strawberry smell of her shampoo invades my nose.
There are worse problems to have.
Reaching my room finally, I punch in the code and usher her through the door. In a way, it’s nice to have her alone to hopefully talk with her. The guys are like golden retriever puppies, all fighting for her attention.
It must get exhausting for her. It’s exhausting to watch, plus it fucking sucks for me because I’m definitely runt of the litter as far as she’s concerned.
Stopping in her tracks when she exits the bathroom and spots me sitting on the bed, her hands go to her hips. “I wasn’t going to snoop.”
“I thought you might want some peace and quiet from your fans.”
Her shoulders drop, her body relaxing. “I like them all, but social settings sometimes drain me.”
“I get it. They’re a lot, you get used to it though, and if you don’t, I can always help you escape them.”
“What if I’m trying to escape you?”
“You definitely don’t need my help. You’re on, like, expert level now or something.”
She laughs and, my God, that noise. I’ve never enjoyed making someone laugh the way I do her. It’s because she makes me work for every laugh and smile, the competitive side of me buzzes when I manage it. Taking a seat at my desk, she tells me about shows she did when she was younger, and how draining it was being surrounded by hundreds of other overexcited kids.
I sit and listen to her, nodding and laughing, freaking mesmerized at her confidence and her commitment, how she views things and explains them.
When she’s done, even she looks like she doesn’t know where that came from. She concentrates on the contents of my desk, prodding at a textbook about God knows what.
“I don’t mind if you snoop, y’know. You didn’t check everything last time.”
“I don’t need to snoop. I know everything I need to know about you.”
I can’t stop the sigh that escapes me when she stands from her seat and walks toward the bedroom door. Her hand reaches for the handle, and I instinctively lean forward, gripping her arm lightly.
Spinning to face me, her back presses into the door. “Are you ever going to forgive me?”
“I told you, you’re on probation.”
Raking a hand through my hair, the groan that slips out is pure frustration. “That isn’t a yes. Do I need to get on my knees and beg you, Anastasia? Is that what you want?”
She shakes her head and laughs. “The only time I ever want to see a grown man on his knees in front of me, Nate, is when his face is between my legs. So no, I don’t want you to beg me.”
Oh fuck.
Standing from the bed, I immediately watch her change. Her breathing deepens, thighs squeeze together, tongue pokes out to wet her lips. I can’t help but smirk because I’ve just realized the attraction might not be as one-sided as I thought it was.
“You don’t hate me like you pretend you do, do you? If you want me on my knees, Anastasia, we can make that happen.”
My hands press against the door on either side of her head; I lean down so we’re eye level, her ocean-blue eyes now dark. By the way she gulps, I suspect if I pressed my mouth to her neck, I’d feel her pulse hammering erratically against my lips.
“I’m not pretending.”
“You are.” Watching her fight herself is the hottest thing, even if she sticks to her guns, I’ll be leaving this room a happy man. Leaning forward, I let my mouth linger near the shell of her ear, my breath tickling her neck. “Ask me nicely. Let me show you how much I like it when you’re nice.”
“Why would I do that when I don’t like you?” Her words are strong, but her delivery is strained and wispy, giving her away.
“You don’t have to like me to scream my name, Anastasia.”
I lightly trace her jawline with my nose, enjoying the way her breathing hitches.
“I could give you a map to my G-spot, and you still wouldn’t be able to get me off, Hawkins.”