Page 97 of Cross Checked
His mouth curved. “Do I look like a man who gives long emotional rebuttals?”
“No, you look like a man who causes problems and then acts calm about it.”
“Accurate.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re agreeing too easily.”
“I’m agreeing because you’re giving me access.”
Heat snapped through me. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then returned to my eyes with enough intent to make my knees feel ornamental.
“You can call it benefits if that makes you feel in control,” he said.
My heart slammed.
“I am in control.”
“Then this should be easy.”
“What should?”
He stepped closer. Until my back touched the edge of the counter. The movement was so smooth I barely registered it until he was right there, bigger and warmer and far too calm considering my entire body had just gone into emergency response mode.
“Kissing me,” he said.
My breath caught so hard it almost hurt.
“We haven’t agreed to kissing.”
His eyes flared with amusement and heat. “Pip, I beat off to you—with you—twice last night and then talked you through fingering yourself. We’re past pretending your mouth is a sacred academic boundary.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“Look at me.”
I did.
His face was too close now. Close enough for me to see the faint shadow along his jaw, the dark ring around the blue of his eyes, the way his mouth had gone soft in a way that made my brain short out. But nothing else about him was soft. His body had gone still and coiled, all that control narrowed down to one point.
Me.
“You want this strictly physical—the rest just friendship?” he asked.
I nodded, because words had become difficult.
His hand came up, fingers closing around the back of my neck, angling my face up.
“Words, remember. I need words to know where your head is at.”
The command hit low.
“No, you don’t,” I all but whispered because he one hundred percent read me like a fucking book in silence.
He shrugged with a cocky smile. “Still need words, Pip.”
“Yes.”
His thumb moved once along my jaw. “Then stop talking.”
