Page 18 of Off-Limits

He takes a step closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. Close enough that all it would take is a lean forward and our lips would be pressed together, igniting something neither of us can control. "Like you want me to kiss you," he says softly, his gaze locked onto mine.

I swallow hard, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Because God, do I want him to kiss me. More than anything else in this moment, more than I've ever wanted anything before.

But even as I stand there, torn between throwing caution to the wind and doing something reckless or holding back like a responsible adult, Jake takes another step closer. This time, we are close enough that our chests are almost touching, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

This is surreal. I can't believe this is happening. I should've known better than to let him book a room for us. I should've booked my own room.

"Mia," he whispers again, his voice barely audible but somehow still managing to send shivers down my spine. "Tell me to stop."

I hesitate for a moment, knowing that this is my last chance to put an end to whatever insanity we're about to embark on. But as I open my mouth to speak, no words come out—only a soft sigh that begs him to go on.

My eyes search his face, looking for any hint of what he's thinking, but all I find is… confusion? This doesn't make any sense to me.

"What's going on with you again?" I demand, crossing my arms over my chest, this time out of indignation rather than insecurity. "One minute you're hitting on me, and the next—and I know you're about to do it—you pull away like I've got some kind of infectious disease."

Jake runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely torn. He's different now than he was only a few seconds ago. It's moments like this that makes it impossible for me to understand him.

"Mia..." he starts, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture. Enough is enough of this bullshit. Either he wants me or he can fuck off.

"No," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "Don't 'Mia' me. You can't keep doing this—hot and cold like some emotional whiplash. I'm so tired of it."

He sighs heavily, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting my gaze again. There's a sadness in his eyes that wasn't there before, and it makes my heart ache in a way I didn't think possible.

To be honest, though, I hate it that I still feel some pity for him.

"I do," he says softly. "I want you more than anything, Mia. But... your brother. I keep thinking—"

"Fuck Ryan!" The words explode out of me before I can stop them, surprising even myself with their force. Jake's eyebrows shoot up at my outburst, but I press on, undeterred. This has been a long time coming. "He's not here right now. He doesn't get a say in this, not when it comes to us."

Jake looks taken aback by my sudden ferocity, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. The air between us feels charged, like the calm before a storm.

"You can't just... decide that his opinion doesn't matter," Jake says finally. Oh my goodness, I think. He's being frustrating again. "He's my best friend, Mia. He trusts me to look out for you while he's gone."

I scoff at that, rolling my eyes heavenward. "And what exactly do you think he'd say if he knew we were in the same room together?" I gesture towards the two queen-sized mattresses separated by a small nightstand.

Jake looks uncomfortable at the mention of our sleeping arrangements but doesn't respond to my question. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, "This is complicated, Mia. More than you know."

"Then explain it," I challenge him, taking a step closer so that we're nearly touching again. "Tell me why you kiss me one moment and then, the next, act like you don't want me anymore."

His eyes widen at the last word, and I realize too late what I've said. But it's already out there, hanging between us like a tangible thing, impossible to ignore or take back.

"Mia..." Jake starts again, but this time he doesn't seem to know what to say.

Enough is enough. I've been patient, understanding even, but this constant push-pull from Jake is exhausting. He wants me, I know he does. I can see it in his eyes every time we're together. And yet, here we are again, stuck in this endless cycle of hot and cold.

So when he starts to say my name again, that soft, conflicted sound that's become all too familiar, I don't let him finish. Instead, I reach up and grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down towards me as I push up onto my tiptoes, slamming my mouth against his.

It's not a gentle kiss, not by a long shot. It's messy, desperate, filled with all the frustration and confusion and longing that's been building between us for years now. And Jake seems just as eager to meet my intensity head-on, his hands coming up to grip my waist tightly as he deepens the kiss.

I can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress, the hard lines of his body pressing against me as we stumble towards the bed. My fingers are already working at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up so I can run my hands over the smooth skin beneath. He groans into my mouth when I touch him, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

We break apart just long enough for him to tug his shirt off completely before crashing back together again, our lips fused as we kick off our shoes and send them flying across the room. My dress follows next, disappearing over my head in a flurry of silky fabric that leaves me standing there in nothing but my panties.

Jake's eyes darken as he takes me in, his gaze lingering on every inch of exposed skin before finally coming back to meet mine. "Mia," he says, his chest expanding and contracting slowly. "You're sure about this?"

I don't answer him with words. I can't seem to find any right now. Besides, I feel that if I did, we'd end up in the same loop we were in before. This time, I'm breaking it. It has to be different, and fuck the consequences.

So instead, I reach out and run my hands down the front of his chest, feeling the hard muscles bunch beneath my touch as I trace a path towards the waistband of his pants.

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