I swallow.
He’s hard.
Still.
I knew he would be.
I feel it now, undeniable, pressing against me.
And again—
That traitorous, confusing spark flares low in my body.
What is wrong with me?
I’ve used this before. I know how to read men. How to give them just enough to keep them off balance. To make them hesitate. To make them want.
But this—
This is different.
I’m not just pretending.
This time, I’m feeling it too.
I lift my hand and brush it along the side of his stubbled jaw. He leans into it, just slightly.
My breath catches. “You don’t want to hurt me,” I murmur.
His eyes darken. “You don’t know what I want.”
Maybe not.
But I know what I’m doing to him. And I know what he’s doing to me.
I shift closer. Closer again, until there’s no space left between us.
This isn’t just strategy anymore. This isn’t just survival.
There’s something else here. Something dangerous. Something I shouldn’t touch.
But I do anyway.
I lean in slowly, watching his face, giving him every chance to stop me.
He doesn’t.
So I press my lips to his.
16
CRUZ
Her lips are so soft on mine. I know they’re dry and chapped, but that’s not how they feel. It’s like kissing a rose petal, or a silk handkerchief.
It’s over too fucking soon, and I lean forward—
But she slants away, moving from my lap and back onto the floor where she shifts her hips again, and then circles her chest, her head, all in a way that makes her seem like she’s somewhere else, wearing veils and jewels and finger cymbals.