Page 102 of Show Me How
His eyes flash, mouth lowering until our lips brush, touching but not pressing. “Give it to me. Let me feel it like this.”
“Kiss me first,” I whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. It’s brutal, another reminder of what we’re doing. There’s anger there, frustration too. I don’t know who it’s coming from, and right now, I don’t care. My core tightens, and then I’m coming, my hips lurching down violently.
Shade’s feral curse steals my breath as I feel the pierced tip of him press against my entrance. It doesn’t go inside. He brings his hips back, and before I can blubber an apology, there’s a new wet sensation against me. I roll my lips and watch as he comes, coating me in it.
“Shit.Shit,” he grunts, falling back onto his heels.
I can’t look away as he strokes himself a few times, more milky liquid spilling out the tip and down his knuckles. His hips jerk every few moments, and then he’s stilling.
I’m unable to think, let alone speak. He focuses on me, his chest heaving.
“You gonna punch me, princess?” he asks lowly.
My frown is immediate. “For what?”
“Getting too close.”
“That was my fault. No punching necessary,” I murmur.
He shakes his head, hair drooping over his forehead. “That was fucking reckless. Both of us were.”
My chest flushes as I push myself up the bed and close my legs. He watches me move, too freaking tuned in to me to miss a thing.
“It was only once. We won’t do that again.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks before he slowly gets off the bed. “Only once.”
“Right?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Idiot. Colossal idiot.
Shade freezes, turning his head to look at me. The coolness in his expression is all wrong. It’s a warning, and I hate the way I want to push right past it.
“Right, Millie. Your list is finished. That’s it. We’re done with the lessons.”
I don’t have anything to say. And when he realizes that, he heads for the bedroom door.
“I’ll clean up and bring you a towel.”
“Sure.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone, left to reel in silence. What could go wrong with that?
30
SHADE
“I’ve got the tablecloth!”Daisy announces, diving over the folding table in my living room.
She slides an orange-and-black, Halloween-themed tablecloth over it and then nods at me. I drop the two heavy-as-fuck pumpkins on one end of the table while Bryce leaves another two on the opposite end. Hers and Daisy’s are smaller, more aesthetically pleasing, while mine and Millie’s areugly.There’s no way around that.
Millie hasn’t minded. She’s fawned over them this past week like they’re her fucking babies or something. She spent an hour last night researching the best way to make a pumpkin last outside in the cold, and I swear I saw her reading the ingredient list on my body spray after.
“Do you think there’s a difference between these, or is it just the brands?” she asks the group, holding four sets of carving tools.
Bryce deadpans, staring at the packages. “They’re all blades, aren’t they?”
