I savor the pure longing in every movement.
It’s delicious torture. And that’s what I like.
“You may be wearing his ring, but we both know it was my cock you were riding on your head,” he snores against my skin.
Shame mixes with excitement. Is not wrong. Well, not entirely. You’re wrong when you say Sterling and I didn’t have much sex. During the short time we were together, I managed to get a lot of migraines or stay up late training in the studio.
His fingers caress me and I feel myself dripping, becoming more aroused the more he touches me.
The more he talks to me.
He raises himself on one elbow to look down on me.
“Look at me, Sloane.
Until now I have kept my gaze fixed on the dark wall in front of me. Looking at it is like… a lot. Like getting naked for him when I’ve told him so much and he’s given me so little.
I decide to stay facing the wall, protecting the small pieces of my heart and my dignity that may still be mine. Because Jasper Gervais consumes every other part of me.
He takes out his fingers and I roll on my back, ready to demand that he continue, but as soon as my eyes meet his, his hands grab me again.
“I don’t like asking twice,” he says before sinking his fingers into my pussy. I squeeze and moan, relieved to have him inside me again. Eyes on me.
The only thing I can do is stare into his dark blue eyes so focused on me. His body works expertly on mine, and that exquisite pressure increases, writhing from every corner of my body.
I’m angry with him for all the things he hasn’t told me. But I am also united to him.
You’ve probably already forgiven him. Probably hopelessly in love with him.
“When you’re fucking someone else, who do you think about?” scratch. I want to hear you say it.
-Because? You are jealous? “I prod him, trying to avoid the inevitable, trying to get him to give me some shred of feeling when he’s always so damn locked away.
He doesn’t doubt it.
Jealousy is just the tip of the iceberg. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished I was the one to touch you. His hand runs over my curves as he speaks. The man patting these pretty tits. The man with his head between these thighs making you scream. The man filling this tight little pussy every night.
My breathing becomes labored.
“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 you’re asking me to admit it?
He adds a third finger and strokes my clit with his thumb, making me jerk wildly.
-You. It’s always been you. I spit out the words forcefully. It’s the only way to get them past the logical part of my brain that tells me to keep these secrets locked away.
“Of course,” he growls. And now I’m going to remind you why.
And then his lips crash against mine, claiming me like I’ve always dreamed he would. We poured ourselves into this kiss. In the good. The bad. The desire. The pain. Love.
His body softens and he positions himself on top of me, one hand tangled in my hair and the other between my legs. I adjust, spread out and give him better access. I give myself to him and he gives me a little of himself.
After all, it’s Jasper. The boy with sad eyes and a heart of gold. I have always trusted him and always will.
The thought of him, of us, engulfs the magical way his fingers touch me, and I rush toward that edge. My vision becomes blurry, my lips feel numb, and pain unfolds behind my hip bones.
“Jasper,” I whisper between soft, searching kisses. Oh God. Oh shit. Oh oh…
And then I fall into free fall. My body shakes as a powerful release washes over me. My vision blurs as I enjoy the most intense orgasm of my life. And Jasper continues to hold me tightly, watching every little movement I make with rapt fascination.
With adoration.
Then his lips move down and he kisses me all over my face. My fingers tangle in his wet hair, and my body softens when he says, “See, Sloane?” You may wear someone else’s ring, but we both know you’ve always been mine.
22
jasper
I told myself I would only play it for four seconds.
I told myself I would only kiss her for four seconds.
I told myself I’d just be mad at seeing that fucking sparkly ring sprinkled on my tattoo for four fucking seconds.
And it turns out I’m a damn liar.
I’m still touching it. I still have my fingers stuck in her tight pussy. My lips keep dragging all over her soft, fucking skin.
And I’m still furious that she’s wearing that flashy ring.
Mine.
Why the hell did I tell him that? Why the hell have I become so damn possessive since the second I found out I was engaged? Why have I always considered it mine and never felt threatened by it until him?
I’m one hundred percent out of control, and I hate this feeling. Intrusive thoughts crowd my head and my walls crumble.
Ruining our friendship.
Her leaving me.
She hating me.
I allow myself to think about those things for four seconds. Then I put them in a box and put them away with all the other thoughts that eat me alive, including the ones I’ve locked away about Sloane.
I withdraw from her soft, warm body because I did what I promised – take what I wanted, what she needed – and now we are going to sleep.
We will talk about everything with a cool head in the morning, when anger and years of pent-up sexual frustration do not dominate us.
From both sides. Because I’m not an idiot. Sloane Winthrop has been turning heads for years, and I’m sure I’m not immune. Her face. Her body. Everything about her is outwardly attractive.
Damn distraction.
But it’s what’s inside her that’s so special. Your heart. Your brain. His capacity for empathy.
She is unusual. She is too prone to do what people tell her so as not to irritate anyone.
Whether she realizes it or not, she doesn’t need another man in her life to control her.
And my need to take control is a beast I keep locked inside, away from the girl I’ve put on a pedestal. I don’t feel like trying that shit out on the only girl I’ve ever cared about while we’re both feeling so raw.
Because what if I do and he leaves me? I wouldn’t survive.
With one last kiss on his warm cheek, I pull away, trying to figure out what the hell I’ve done in my crazy seconds. If four seconds was the goal, I have surpassed them.
“More,” she murmurs, her voice thick with excitement.