Page 49 of Hate the One You're With
I swallow hard, my breath catching as his words hit me like a punch to the gut. But I refuse to back down. Instead, I step closer, my lips just a breath away from his. “Maybe I do,” I breathe out, letting the challenge hang thick and heavy between us.
In a move so fast it leaves me dizzy, he’s right in front of me, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck, pulling me in. His lips hover just above mine, his breath hot and ragged against my skin, making every nerve in my body stand on end. “You’re treading on dangerous ground,” he warns, his voice dripping with lust and restraint.
“Maybe I like the heat. The burn,” I whisper back, my voice trembling with anticipation, my heart pounding in my chest.
His grip tightens, his other hand sliding down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against my stomach, and it’s almost enough to make me lose control right then and there. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, the tension between us snapping like a live wire.
His lips crash against mine, and everything else fades away.The world narrows to just the two of us, the fierce press of his mouth, the searing heat between us. His kiss is wild, desperate, like he’s finally given up on holding back, and it’s everything I’ve been craving. His tongue tangles with mine, each stroke more demanding, more insistent, making my whole body zing with electricity.
I can’t help the moan that escapes me, muffled against his lips, as his hand slides down my back, gripping my waist with enough force to leave bruises. But I want those bruises, want the proof of how badly he needs me, how close he is to losing control. My fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more, craving the feel of his hard body against mine.
My nipples harden, pebbling against the fabric of my dress as his chest presses against me, the friction sending sharp, sweet jolts of pleasure through my body. I arch into him, desperate for more contact, my body practically buzzing with the need to be touched, to be claimed.
Caleb doesn’t disappoint. His free hand slides up my side, fingers brushing the curve of my waist before he cups my breast through the flimsy fabric of my dress, his thumb flicking over my hardened nipple. The sensation is like a lightning strike, hot and sharp, and I gasp into his mouth, my knees nearly giving out from the sheer intensity of it.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged. “You feel that?” he whispers, his voice thick with lust, his thumb circling my nipple again, slower this time, teasing. “That’s what you do to me. You make me want to tear every piece of clothing off you and take you right here, right now. Make you mine.”
My skin is on fire, every nerve ending alive and buzzing,the anticipation making me tremble. “Then do it,” I challenge, my voice breathless, daring him to take what we both want. “I’ve always been yours. Only yours.”
His eyes flare at my words, and with a growl, he slips his hand over the neckline of my dress, pushing the fabric aside until his hand is on my bare skin. The heat of his touch sears me, his rough fingers grazing my nipple through the fabric, sending another bolt of pleasure straight through me. My breath quickens, my body arching into his hand, wanting more, needing more.
Just as his words hang in the air, dripping with raw need, the intensity between us reaches a fever pitch. My pulse is racing, my skin is on fire, and I’m teetering on the edge, ready to fall into him, to let go completely.
But then, in an instant, Caleb’s body goes rigid, his grip on me loosening as his head tilts slightly, that ever-present alertness of his kicking in.
And just when I think I might combust, he pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with a mix of lust and frustration. “This isn’t over,” he growls, his voice thick with promise.
My heart is pounding, my body trembling with the need he’s ignited in me. I know he’s right. This isn’t over—not by a long shot.
“You just lost something,” I say, flustered, my voice trembling as I try to regain control. I want more—God, do I want more—but I’m upset at myself for letting him get this far, for not stopping him sooner.
“I don’t give a fuck about what I lost, Emmersyn. Try that one more time, and the next thing you know, I’ll have you onyour knees, begging for my cock—I know how much you like it, baby.”
His words send a rush of heat through me, my mind whirling with a mix of anger and desire. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under my skin, for knowing exactly what buttons to push to make me unravel. My cheeks flush, and I bite my lip, trying to ignore the way my body is betraying me, the way every nerve seems to tingle in anticipation.
Why does he have to be so infuriatingly confident, so sure that I’ll cave? And worse, why do I want to?
A thousand thoughts race through my mind, each one a jumble of conflicting emotions. I’m caught between wanting to slap that smug grin off his face and wanting to pull him back to me, to feel him against me again.
A few moments later, Max walks into the kitchen with baby Emma in his arms, looking more bleary-eyed than usual. He spots me and grins. “Emmersyn, you’re a lifesaver. Thanks for soothing her twice last night. Can you stay with us forever?”
I laugh, the sound light and easy, and reach out to tickle Emma’s tiny feet. “I don’t know if you could handle having me around all the time, Max.”
Max chuckles, rocking Emma gently. “We’ll manage. You’ve got the magic touch with this one.”
Just then, Zoe arrives in the kitchen, freshly bathed and looking more rested than she did yesterday. She beams at me, wrapping me in a warm hug. “So, either you move in with us, or we’re moving to New York—this is the first night we’ve slept more than a few hours,” she says with a laugh.
I smile, feeling a mix of warmth and discomfort. Before Ican respond, my phone rings. It’s Jane. “Sorry, I need to take this,” I say, offering them an apologetic smile before stepping out of the room to answer the call.
As I walk down the hallway, Jane’s voice filters through the line, but I’m only half-listening, distracted by the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. I pause just outside the doorway, unable to resist eavesdropping.
“She’s amazing with Emma,” Zoe’s voice is soft, full of admiration. “I didn’t expect that, but it’s true. We’re lucky you brought her with you.”
Max chimes in, “Yeah, she’s been a huge help. You can tell she really cares.”
There’s a pause, and then I hear Caleb’s voice, low and dismissive. “Don’t get used to her. She’s faking it. She’s not really like that. She’s cold and heartless.”
It’s okay, I remind myself. That’s exactly what I want him to think. He doesn’t matter, and I don’t care about convincing him otherwise. But as much as I try to shrug it off, there’s a sting that lingers, a tiny voice in the back of my mind that wishes he could see me differently. I push it aside, refusing to let it take hold.
