Page 206 of Faking the Goal

Of course there fucking isn't.

Instead, I'm trapped in a bed with the woman I've wanted for so long while she drunkenly tries to strip and seems determined to test every last shred of self-control I possess.

"Taylor," I warn.

She goes still for approximately two seconds.

Then she starts squirming again.

"Trouble."

"What?" she mumbles innocently.

I close my eyes.

"Oh, trouble," I groan, pulling her flush against me, my arm a steel band around her waist. Her back arches into my chest and I can feel every breath she takes. "You're making it really fucking hard for me to stay in control."

Her hand slips behind her, palm cupping the rigid length of me through my jeans. A low, throaty laugh escapes her. "Yeah," she murmurs, her voice dripping with intent. "I can definitely feel how hard."

A ragged curse tears from my throat. Fuck me.

My hand snaps down, closing around her wrist to pull her exploring fingers away. "Don't," I growl against the shell of her ear, the word a strained warning.

"I'm trying to be a gentleman here, you know that? And you're making it incredibly fucking difficult."

"Then don't." She twists her head toward me, giving me a lazy smile. "Stop being a gentleman and just take me, sunshine."

A low sound escapes me and I tighten my hold before she can start moving again.

"Sleep," I tell her. "Before you do something you might regret tomorrow."

"Trust me, I won't regret letting you fuck me, sunshine." She sounds almost offended by the suggestion. "Do you have any idea how much you've been torturing me lately with that hot, gorgeous body? I'm barely holding on to my sanity and my raging hormones over here." She squirms around enough to look at me. "I want you. Now."

I grit my teeth.

"Don't you want me?" she asks, her voice suddenly softer. "Am I still not good enough for you?"

Fucking hell, this woman.

I roll her onto her back and brace myself over her, stopping her restless movements beneath me. For a moment, I just look at her. At those heavy hazel eyes staring up at me, waiting for an answer to a question she should never have had to ask.

I lift a hand and brush my knuckles slowly over her cheek.

"Trust me, trouble. That is not the fucking reason."

Her eyes stay on mine.

"This has nothing to do with you not being good enough for me. Fuck, Taylor, if you had any idea what I've been holding back every time you get this close to me, you wouldn't even be asking."

My eyes move over her face, lingering on those naturally rosy lips before finding hers again.

"You think I don't want you?" A humorless laugh leaves me. "I want you so fucking badly that sometimes I swear wanting you has become a permanent state of being. I want you enough to lose my fucking mind over you. Enough that having you on top of me five minutes ago practically took years off my life. Enough that every time you touch me, I have to remind myself why giving in would be a terrible fucking idea. So trust me, trouble, if wanting you were the only thing that mattered tonight, we wouldn't still be having this conversation."

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn't say anything.

"But I need to hear you say this to me when you're sober." My thumb brushes lightly beneath her eye. "I want you looking at me with a clear head and knowing exactly what you're asking for. And if you still want me then..." A smile pulls at my mouth. "Trust me, trouble. You won't have to ask twice."

Her brows pinch together, and then, fucking hell, her bottom lip actually pushes out.