Page 80 of Would You Rather
I shake my head, turning to face him. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, swallowing the gravel in my throat. “We just got carried away. It was a mistake.”
“Mistake?” he repeats. “No, I think that was the realest thing I have ever done.” My breath catches in my throat. “You know what I think?” he asks, taking a step closer until he crowds me. “I think you want me. I think you have for a while, but you’ve been denying it to yourself for so long that you don’t want to admit it.”
He stares into my eyes, and I swear it’s like he looks into my soul. “You want to know how I know?” he asks me. I slowly nod, unable to say anything else. His eyes darken as he crowds me, bringing his hand to clutch my face. “Because I’ve been doing it too,” he admits.
My heart races so fast I doubt I’m breathing. “You don’t mean that.”
His thumb glides over my skin. “I mean every word,” he says. “Every goddamn word I’m telling you right now is more honest than I have been in a while.” He leans in, his eyes locked on mine. “I want you.”
My knees wobble, and I gather myself. “But… you don’t like me.”
He chuckles, and I feel the vibration against my skin. “Then tell me why I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers. “Tellme why you’ve been living in my mind since the day we fucking met.”
My eyes attempt to flutter closed, and I force myself to open them. “You hated me back then.”
“I hated how you came in and flipped my life upside down,” he says, his eyes on mine. “I hated how fucking attracted to you I was. I hated how you didn’t give me an inkling of attention when I couldn’t stop staring at you.” He pulls back an inch, shaking his head. “But not you,” he says. “Never you.”
A heavy sigh escapes him as he leans in, pressing his forehead against mine. “I’ve never even touched you, never even kissed you, yet you’re all I crave,” he whispers, his voice filled with longing. I drop my head, closing my eyes, his words repeating themselves in my head.
Gently, he lifts my chin, his eyes meeting mine, brimming with emotion. “Don’t fight this,” he pleads, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’m done trying to convince myself that every part of me doesn’t call out for you.”
I swallow roughly. “Lucas,” I whisper, the overwhelming scent of spice and citrus invading my senses. “How do I know this is real?”
“Baby, it stopped being fake to me a long time ago.” His hand curls over the back of my neck, and he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. “Tell me to go,” he urges, his eyes darkening, zoning in on my red lips. “If you don’t want this, then tell me to go to bed and leave you alone, and I’ll do it.” His brows tug together as he keeps staring at me. “Stop me, Madeline,” he begs. “Tell me to leave you alone and to never think of what your lips taste like.”
All I can do is try to breathe as he sucks the oxygen straight out of my lungs.
“Stop me, Madeline.”
I can’t stop this. I don’t want to.
“Kiss me.”
That’s all it takes for him to lean in and crash our lips together. The first touch of our lips together sends a jolt of electricity down my spine. Our mouths move together in perfect harmony. His lips are soft, hesitant at first, as if testing the waters. I wrap my arms around his neck and lift onto my toes while his hand cups my face and the other grips my waist, pulling me closer to him. The warmth of his body presses against mine and all I can think ismore.Moreof this.Moreof him. Justmore.
Then the kiss deepens, and holy shit, my legs go weak. Our kiss turns urgent as he lets out a delicious groan into my mouth, and I part my lips for him. He takes the invitation, sliding his tongue across mine.
“Fuck,” he groans, pulling back to look at me, his eyes hooded, filled with lust. His hand tightens around my waist, and he drops his forehead to mine. “Tell me I can touch you,” he pleads, pressing his lips against my cheek. “Please.”
God. Just hearing him beg has me weak. “You already are,” I tell him, my voice coming out breathy.
He pulls back. “I’m serious, Mads. That was one of your rules.”
“Fuck the rules.” I tug at his hair, and he groans, closing his eyes. “They don’t matter anymore.”
“They do to me,” he says, pressing his lips against mine. “Say it,” he urges. “I need to hear you say it.”
The pleading in his voice brings out a soft moan from my lips, and I let myself fall. “Touch me, Lucas,” I whisper. “I need you to touch me.”
Chapter 27
Still hate me?
Hearing those words spill from Madeline’s mouth hits me with desire and absolute fucking joy within me. How long have I waited for this moment? To hear her admit she wants me, that she needs me.
It takes everything in me to pull away from her when the door opens, and more people start to leave, flooding the hotel lobby. My eyes flash to the empty elevator, and my brows furrow. There’s no way Madeline will get on it, at least not without a distraction.
She’s still staring up at me, those gorgeous red lips smudged from my kisses. I want another taste. Fuck. I grab her by her waist, and lift her up, throwing her over my shoulder. A squeal escapes her lips, but I don’t give her time to think, rushing us into the elevator before the doors close.
