Page 64 of Set on You

This kiss is something else, because I know Scott on a deeper level that takes my breath away. I know he’s an outgoing introvert. Crowded places don’t faze him, but if he can avoid them, he will. I know how sad he gets when he sees lost dog posters—he lingers, reading them at least twice with a heavy sigh. I know how he likeshis cereal, with very minimal milk, due to his aversion to soggy foods. And I know how funny he thinks something is based on the placement of his hand to his chest and how far back he tosses his head.

Just knowing all of these things, among a million others, intensifies our fusion. Like the stakes are higher than ever with every move we make.

His fingers move from my hair to my back, running up and down my spine. I arch myself, moving in a slow rhythm against him, remembering how perfectly we moved together. Eventually, the tips of his fingers edge around the curve of my waist, under the front of my sweater, darting upward, over my stomach.

“Is that okay?” he whispers against my mouth.

More than okay.I nod and he continues, his hands slowly making their way around the undersides of my breasts underneath my bra. He molds them in his palms, skimming the peaks with the pads of his fingers, his breath quickening with each passing second. A tingling sensation rockets through me, rendering me desperate to drive myself even closer to him.

When I roll my hips, he lets out a deep groan into my ear, grasping my thighs to ground me to him. Suddenly, I hate these leggings and the thin layer they cast, dividing me from what I really want.

As if he can read my mind, his fingers dip under the waist, teasingly tugging them down. His hand curves over my ass underneath my leggings, giving me a firm squeeze. His chest heaves as he meets my wild, primal gaze, which is silently telling him to push me around and have his way with me.

Then, out of nowhere, he stills underneath me. Letting out a ragged breath, he pulls his hand north of my waist. A vein pulses in his forehead. He looks hungry, starving, as if he’s doing all he can to resist.

“Crys...” he says between labored breaths, “we can’t do this.”

“What? Why?” I stiffen on top of him as disappointment avalanches through my body. He’s rejecting me. The only reason I’m not side-aerialing off his lap is because he’s still firmly gripping my waist, as if silently telling me not to move.

His face looks pained as he drops his head. “Because. We’re waiting. Taking it slow. Remember?”

I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now. Why did I do this to myself? Was the old me of merely a few weeks ago really that visually impaired? Did I not want my Marvel-Chris crush to send me to the edge with just his touch? Sure, I didn’t want to be his rebound. I wanted more than just sex. But current me, with his massive erection pressed against me, doesn’t even care. I want this, regardless of the consequences.

I curve my hand along his jaw, my fingertips scratching his stubble as I pull his face closer to mine. “Screw it.”

His massive hands close around my comparatively tiny wrists. I feel like I’m in shackles, which does little to quell my all-out carnal lust for him right now. Our faces are literally an inch apart. I desperately want to close that last inch, but he won’t let me.

“I don’t want to fuck you.” His starved, gravelly voice drops an octave. I’m stunned for a moment, not just because he sounds like the velvety narration of an erotic fantasy, but because he’s full-on rejecting me right now. Sensing my shock, he tightens his grip on my wrists. “That came out wrong.”

“No. I heard you,” I say, attempting to rip my wrists out of his death grip, to no avail.

“Just listen. I want to. Badly.” His eyes nearly plead with mine. “But you told me you needed time.”

“That was weeks ago. I’ve had time,” I assure. “Why are you suddenly so against it?”

“Because you were right. If we’re going to do this, we need to trust each other, with no doubts. We’re not there yet.”

I frown. “Do you not trust me?”

“I do. But I don’t know if it goes both ways.”

I’m helpless because he’s right, which is exactly why I implemented this time rule to begin with. To save myself from being a shiny object, a distraction to get over Diana.

I release a small sigh. “I’m sorry. I hate that I overthink everything... I wish I could jump in, headfirst.”

“I don’t want you to until you’re ready. Really. And it’s not just you.” He dips his chin, avoiding eye contact. “I had a talk with Martin too.”

“Really?”

“He wants us to be careful, especially in the lead-up to the wedding. He doesn’t want any drama. This wedding means a lot to him and Flo.”

I understand the apprehension. Tension between Scott and me would put a damper on the occasion. But I’m surprised by the sudden shift in attitude toward our union. Last I checked, Martin and Flo were practically begging us to date. I’m tempted to pry further, but I get the sneaking suspicion Scott isn’t interested in sharing more. So I just nod. “Yeah, makes sense. We’ll cool it.”

After a few beats, he looks back up at me, eyes alight, as if he’sjust come across a rare sale on his hideously expensive protein powder. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t take you on a couple dates in the meantime.”

“You want to court me? The old-fashioned way?” Grandma Flo would be so pleased.

Scott’s cocky smirk returns. “Why not? But there will be old-fashioned conditions.”

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