Page 85 of The Players We Hate
It started slow, then hit hard—her lips parting, her fingers bunching the front of my shirt. The kiss turned rougher, months of tension finally snapping, but I still held on to control.
Her back hit the wall, my body crowding hers before I even thought about it. Her breath caught, heat rolling off her. My thumb slid along her jaw, down to her throat, pausing where her pulse jumped under my hand.
She tipped her head back, giving me more. I dragged my mouth down her neck, slow, catching the taste of skin and sweat. Her nails dug into the back of my neck, sharp enough to make me shiver.
“Tell me to stop,” I muttered against her skin, my chest tight. “If you don’t want this—”
“I do,” she breathed, voice breaking like she meant it.
That was all I needed.
I lifted her, her legs locking around my waist like it was second nature. She fit too damn well, like she always had. Carrying her to the bed, I set her down on the old sheets, the mattress groaning under us. I leaned over her, holding myself up, but my focus stayed on the sound of her uneven breaths, her eyes locked on mine like she was making a choice.
I brushed my knuckles over her cheek and along her jaw. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Her answer came fast—she yanked me down, her mouth crashing against mine. “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t.
My lips trailed down her throat, catching at her collarbone. She shivered when my teeth grazed her skin, fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. My hands slid over her, memorizing every curve, every sound she made.
She grabbed at my hoodie, tugging until I pulled it over my head and tossed it aside. Her palms were warm against my skin, urging me back down. I reached for her shirt, hesitating only long enough to meet her eyes. Then I peeled it off, and she let it fall, already pulling me in again.
I fumbled with her jeans, and she laughed softly when my hands slipped. I kissed her again, deeper this time, as we pushed the rest of our clothes away in a rush, leaving only skin and the heat between us.
I pressed her into the mattress, bracing my weight above her. For a moment, I just looked at her, taking in her flushedcheeks, swollen lips, and the way her eyes held mine like the rest of the world had fallen away.
God help me, I had never wanted anyone the way I wanted Wren.
My fingers brushed over her slit, and the way her body responded made my chest tighten. I lifted my hand, tasting her on my skin, groaning low in my throat.
Nothing would ever compare to her. To this moment.
She trembled beneath me, stomach quivering with need. I reached for my wallet, relief hitting when my fingers brushed the condom I kept there. It had been a long time since I’d needed one. Long before the night Wren walked into my life again.
I tore the wrapper open, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and rolled it on before settling between her thighs. I slowed, remembering the way she’d admitted once that she didn’t have much experience. I wasn’t about to hurt her.
She tensed at first, her body tight around me, and I sucked in a sharp breath. She was warm, soft, and impossibly perfect. I bent low, my mouth finding her breast, flicking my tongue over her until I felt her begin to loosen under me, her fingers sliding into my hair as if anchoring herself there.
“You okay?” I murmured. She nodded, her eyes catching mine, and then she lifted her hips in silent invitation.
I drew back and pushed in again, slower this time, until the sounds she made shifted. Not in pain, but in pleasure. Her face changed with it, lips parting, eyes fluttering shut.
“Oh my God…” she whispered, breathless.
I gritted my teeth, the words breaking out of me. “Tell me again how much you hate me. Tell me you don’t feel thisbetween us.” I adjusted her legs higher, pushing her open, needing her to understand. “We both know nothing this good could ever be wrong. I was wrong about you.”
I pushed her legs up against her chest. Her hands gripped behind her knees, and I snaked my hand between us to slide my finger through her folds.
When I brushed my thumb over her clit again, her body jerked, wetter than before, making every thrust harder to hold back.
“Tell me, Wren,” I grunted.
She exhaled a heavy breath, shaking her head.
Her voice broke as she clung tighter. “I was wrong too. I wanted to hurt you, to make you feel half of what I felt. But you make me feel out of control. Like I can’t stop how much I want you.”
“There’s no going back now,” I said, my voice rough, the words scraping out of me. “Not after this. Not after knowing what it’s like to have you.” I pressed my forehead to hers, forcing her to hear it, to feel it. “I made myself a promise—I’d only ever take you like this if you were mine. And you are. You always have been.”
