Page 78 of House Rules
Her breath stutters.
“You’ve been driving every single one of us mad,” I whisper, dragging my thumb across her lower lip. It trembles beneath the pressure, but she doesn’t openher mouth. Doesn’t pull away. “Don’t pretend this is one-sided.”
“I’m not pretending anything,” she bites out. “I’ve followed every rule. I’ve worn what you told me to wear. Done what you’ve asked. And still it’s not enough.”
“It’s not about rules. It’s about truth.”
My fingers slip beneath the waistband, not far—just enough to feel the heat of her skin, the fine tremble running through her. Her hands stay at her sides. Rigid. Waiting. But she doesn’t stop me.
She looks at me then—really looks. And the rage softens into something else.
“I’m not the threat you think I am.”
That lands like a punch. Because part of me knows she’s telling the truth. But the rest of me—the part ruled by lust and control and this gnawing need to break her open and see what’s inside—doesn’t give a shit.
“I think you’re the most dangerous thing to ever step foot on our boat,” I say. My fingers dip lower, brushing the edge of soft lace, and I feel the proofof her arousal—hot, unmistakable. “Because every time you look at me like that, I forget who the fuck I am.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, pulsing with everything unsaid.
Then, I kiss her.
Not to shut her up. Not to win.
I kiss her because I can’t not. Because the hunger has eaten me alive and the fire she’s lit inside me refuses to die. Her mouth is soft but fierce beneath mine, her hands shoving at my chest even as her lips part. It’s chaos. It’s need. It’s the beginning of the end.
Because in that moment, I know:
I’ve already lost the fucking bet.
And I don’t care.
Immediately, her body melts into mine.
Her lips part, hungry, and I swallow her breath as she kisses me back with a desperation that guts me. She tastes like coffee and cherries and the kind of danger I should know better than to crave. Myhands drag down the length of her spine, gripping her ass to pull her flush. I can feel the heat of her through those thin little shorts. She's soft and furious and completely mine in this moment.
I break the kiss to bury my mouth against her throat, inhaling the sharp scent of soap and skin and sex. Her pulse races against my tongue. She's panting already, clawing at my shoulders like she doesn’t know whether she wants to fight me or fuck me. I slip my hand beneath the waistband of her shorts and find her slick and soaking.
“Fuck,” I rasp, voice shredded with need. “You’re soaked for me, little liar.”
I push two fingers inside her, no warning, and she cries out—not in pain, but in some kind of desperate release. Her head falls back against the wall, mouth open.
I should punish her. She deserves it. For spying. For lying. For the shit she said to me back in her room. For every time she’s looked at one of us like she might be the one in control.
I curl my fingers inside her and press my palm tight to her clit, watching her unravel.
“You should be walking around this fucking penthouse naked,” I growl into her ear, curling my free hand around the back of her neck. “Wet. Wanting. Needing it so bad you can’t think.”
Her thighs twitch. Her breath catches.
“Or maybe I fuck you right now,” I murmur, dragging my lips over her jaw. “Make you walk around with my cum dripping down your thighs so every one of them knows who owns you.”
“Beg me,” I say, my voice a razor.
“No.”
I twist my fingers deeper, hitting that spot that makes her hips jerk. Her hands slam against my chest, gripping my shirt like she’s drowning.
“Beg me,” I repeat, knowing damn well I won’t last much longer. I need to be inside her. I need to break her. I need her to say it.
