Page 89 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Oh . . . then . . . what’s wrong with you?”

She shifts again, and I grip her hips hard, holding her in place.

“My cock’s rock fucking hard, and I’m trying to do the right thing with you, for once.”

Normally, I wouldn’t be so forward about it, but with her looking at me with soft puppy-dog eyes, I need her to understand it’s not because I don’t want her.

Fuck, she’s all I’ve fucking thought about for the last six months.

Probably longer.

She draws her lip back between her teeth.

“What if I don’t want you to do the right thing?”

How the fuck am I supposed to navigate this?

“Mila,” I grit, my hands tightening on her hips when she shifts against me again, deliberately grinding her bare pussy on the ridge in my jeans.

“Shhh . . .” she whispers, slipping a little further down the couch. “You didn’t . . .”

“Didn’t what, Mila?” I’m taunting her, trying to force her to say it with her words rather than implied reasoning.

“You didn’t come.”

Fuck.

Neither of us move for a moment, the sound of her breathing heavy and mixing with mine.

“This wasn’t about me.”

Something flashes in her gaze, almost like a challenge, and I’m not sure I’m fucking prepared for the patience it’s going to take to deny her. My self-control is barely holding on as it is.

With her gaze on mine, Mila reaches between us, her palm finding me through the jeans I fell asleep in last night and her fingers wrapping around me as best she can.

I grit my teeth to stifle the groan that rumbles up my chest, the friction on my cock enough to drive me fucking insane.

I can see the thoughts racing through her head. How unsure of herself she is. I know this is too fast for her. I also know Mila, and we won’t ever get anywhere if she thinks she’s cheating me.

“Fuck,” I grit, pulling away from her. I stand from the couch, and Mila falls back to her ass, her gaze on the rug I’m pacing on top of.

“I’m sorry,” she rushes, her voice soft, higher pitched than usual.

It feels like I’ve been kicked in the dick, despite how utterly fucking hard I am.

“I don’t want you doing something because you think it’s what I want, Mila,” I murmur, voice gruff even if I try to smooth it over.

She doesn’t respond and when I look back at her, a tear slips down her cheek.

Fucking hell.

“Hey,” I try, forcing a gentleness into my voice I’m not accustomed to.

This shit is new for both of us. After everything that happened, I wasn’t sure if she’d ever want to be touched again.

I cross the space between us, sinking down to my haunches in front of her. She doesn’t look at me, so I take her chin in my thumb and forefinger and force her gaze to mine.

“Damn near all I can think about is you,” I murmur, deciding a little bit of the truth might not fucking hurt for once. “I jerk off in the shower every fucking morning like a goddamned teenager because I can’t get your soft little moans out of my head.”

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