Page 157 of The Next Lie

He kisses me again, one hand fisted in my hair now, the other already opening my jeans. He does not ask if I am sure because I already told him. He does not treat me like glass. He handles me like something hot, volatile, and his to hold only because I have not taken myself away.

The button of my jeans gives.

The zipper follows.

He pulls them down my hips along with my underwear, rough enough that I have to lift myself to help or be dragged flat. The air hits me, cool and shocking. I grab at his shoulders when he spreads my knees wider.

“Hands.”

I glare.

He stills.

Everything in him goes quiet and hard.

“You give me your hands when and where I ask for them, or we stop.”

My throat works. The order probably ought to make me furious, and a small part of me is angry. A larger part wants this, though, with a kind of desperate need that won’t be settled.

I put my hands back on the desk.

“Good girl.”

The words hit somewhere lower than pride. Warm slides through me. He sees it and smiles.

I hate that too.

His fingers slide between my thighs, and whatever I planned to say dies in a sharp inhalation. He finds me wet. Too wet. His eyes lift to mine, and the look on his face is pure male satisfaction.

“Don’t—” I warn.

“You’re dripping.”

“Just don’t talk.”

“I remember this about you.”

My pulse stutters.

“So hungry for it. So angry.” His fingers circle my clit once, slow and exact. “You wanted me in that bathroom before you knew my face.”

“I thought you were Shiloh.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I slap at his chest. He catches my wrist and pins it beside my hip.

“One hand gone. Do you want to lose the other?”

My breath comes too fast. “You’re an asshole.”

“Never claimed to be otherwise.”

He slides two fingers inside me.

My whole body clenches around them.

His mouth moves to my ear. “You going to tell me you don’t want my cock because I’m such an asshole?”