Page 70 of Falling

I start to climb off him, to put some much-needed space between us when his hands come onto my hips. His touch is electric, and I wish it didn’t send sparks flying across my entire body.

“I want you so badly, Wren. Me and you for real,” he murmurs, dropping his head to my chest.

I laugh. “This is exactly what I meant by funny business.”

He rolls his head against me. “I’m telling the truth.”

“You’re delirious,” I say, trying again to move, but he keeps me there, hovering over him. I lift his head up, brushing his hair out of his face and looking down at him.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Ask me again in the morning,” he challenges, “and see what I’ll say.”

“That’s if you can remember any of this in the morning.”

He meets my gaze with intensity, and I suck in a breath. “Cut the bullshit, Wren. Stop covering up everything you feel with a joke. You’re way too fucking smart to be doing that with me.”

“I’m not doing that,” I whisper.

“Don’t play dumb with me either, princess.”

“I’m not playing dumb. I just— We joke around, it's what we do. I just don’t believe you’re being serious,” I argue. “You’re not into me, Miles. Iknowthat.”

His grip on my hips tightens, and he drops me onto his lap. I feel his dick pressing into me from the thin material that separates us, and I gasp.

“Is this believable enough?” he rasps, “Is the way my body has been aching for you since the day I met you believable, Wren? Because I can prove to you in a thousand other ways that this isn’t fake.”

My heart thunders in my ears, and every reason not to do this is screaming at me. I know him. I know how he operates and the jokes he makes about wanting me or flirting with me. I also know that I haven’t had another man touch me in nine months, and every time Miles so much as looks at me, I swear I see fireworks exploding.

“Just kiss me,” he repeats, biting on my earlobe, “Just once. If you hate it, we can stop and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Miles, if we do this once, we’ll just think of another excuse to do it again,” I say.

“I can control myself, baby. Can you?”

He looks up at me with passion and intensity, and I shake my head.

“This is a really fucking bad idea,” I say, panting.

Every rational thought I had is thrown out the window as I crash my mouth into his.

It’s more frantic and exhilarating than the first time we kissed at the gala. Hell, it’s a lot more chaotic than the peck he gave me earlier. It’s the kind of kiss that’ll drive me insane. The kind that I won’t be able to stop thinking about days from now.

My hands dive into the curls at the back of his neck, pulling and gripping as his hands explore my ass before venturing up my shirt. His hand is warm and comforting against my skin and so fucking gentle. His touch is a little hesitant like he’s trying not to break me.

There is something so addicting about the way his mouth tastes like sweetness and fall. I feel greedy when it comes to him, desperate to taste every part of him.

I press featherlight kisses onto his bruises before sliding down the length of him to get better access to the column of his throat. I kiss and suck frantically like he did to me in the woods, and a low noise comes from the back of his throat when I nip at his collarbone.

He moves his hands out from under my shirt to my ass, grabbing and pulling me back up into a sitting position. I make the mistake of rolling against him, feeling the friction between us, and I whimper.

“Can I take this off?” he asks hoarsely, tugging at his jersey that’s clung to me.

“Are you sure? I thought it was boosting your ego.”

“Can I take it off, Wren? Yes, or no?”

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