Page 41 of He Falls First

“Elizabeth,” Hendrix breathes, his voice thick with desire as he leans forward in his chair. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Maybe I want to,” I whisper, my eyes locked on his.

Even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t resist the urge to see just how far this game will go. My fingers find the hem of my shirt, playing with the fabric in a way that suggests I might not be done just yet.

Hendrix’s gaze turns intense, his green eyes locked onto mine like a predator sizing up its prey. It’s as if he senses the shift in atmosphere, the undercurrent of attraction pulsing between us. His face darkens and his body tenses.

I wonder if he’s tense all over.

I swallow hard. The temptation is overwhelming. Slowly, I start to lift my shirt, revealing a hint of my stomach, tense with held breath. The air feels electric, charged with anticipation.

He breathes my name again. “Elizabeth…”

The room feels hotter, and I hear the blood pounding in my ears. His eyes never leave me, drinking in every inch of exposed skin as I pull the shirt over my head and drop it to the floor.

Before I know it, I’m down to my black bra and panties. The rational part of my brain screams at me to stop, but the rest of me yearns for him to touch me, to feel his hands on my body.

“Enough,” Hendrix growls suddenly, pulling me against him. His strong arms wrap around my waist, pressing me tightly to his chest. My heart races, feeling the heat of his body through our thin layers of clothing. I thought I was yearning for him before, but it’s only now that I realize just how badly I want him—I crave his touch, his lips on mine, the weight of him on top of me.

I lean into his touch, his warm hands on my hips. He pulls me against him, his strong arms holding me close as if I belong there. My body reacts instinctively, pressing into the solid plane of his chest, aching for the closeness I’ve been craving.

And as I tilt my head up to capture his lips with mine, I feel the undeniable proof of his desire for me, too: the hard length of his erection pressing insistently against my stomach.

My heart races, and I know we’re crossing a line we shouldn’t. But I can’t help it. I want this man so badly it hurts. I press into him until I can feel the tip of his erection, can start to picture exactly what he’d feel like pushing into me.

But in a split second, Hendrix’s attitude changes completely. He stiffens, pushing me away from him, his eyes darkened in a different way now. With anger. With disappointment.

“Elizabeth,” he growls, his voice rough and thick with frustration. “Have fucking some self-respect, will you?”

“Wh-what?” I stammer, standing in front of him, taken aback by his sudden fury. The room seems to grow colder, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to cover my half-naked body.

“You shouldn’t give in so easily when a date wants intimacy from you,” he continues, his eyes flashing like lightning. “Don’t just throw yourself at someone because they show interest. You’re worth more than that.”

“I…”

“You deserve better. You deserve someone who values you beyond just the physical.”

Before I can even attempt to process his words or defend myself, Hendrix storms out of the room, leaving me hurt and confused as hell.

“Seriously?” I mutter under my breath, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I rub at the goosebumps on my arms.

What the hell just happened? One moment, we were caught up in a sexually charged game that was supposed to be nothing more than a joke, and the next, we were practically ripping each other’s clothes off. And then, just as suddenly, Hendrix snapped and walked away.

I pull on my discarded clothes, trying to shake off the sting of his words. Then I slump back down into my chair. This is exactly why we can’t let the lines between us blur. This feeling right here.

Hendrix is right about one thing. I deserve better. I can’t let this continue the way it’s going.

But as I sit alone in the dimly lit room, listening to the distant echo of Hendrix’s angry footsteps, I wonder if we’ve already crossed a line we can’t come back from.

Chapter 17

Elizabeth

Sitting all alone at the huge dining table, I can still feel Hendrix’s hands on my skin. My body’s buzzing with a need that’s both annoying and impossible to ignore. “He Falls First” keeps looping in my head like a mantra turned into mockery.

That’s it. I’m so over this hot-and-cold game.

I push back from the table, the chair screeching against the hardwood floor and sounding just like the mess inside me. As I march out of the room, even the walls sound like they echo my resolve. I’m done letting Hendrix Monroe call the shots in our… whatever this is.

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