Page 74 of Tell Me Why
“Propagation…” he moans, his hand reaching under my cropped graphic-T, his large palm cupping my left breast through my bra. “Now there’s an idea...”
I’d scoff, but God help me, the way he says that, his deep, seductive timbre scraping over each syllable, I’m melting faster than a sandcastle at high tide. Despite my reluctance, I lean into his hand, breath stuck in my lungs, waiting for his next move...
His lips find my throat again as he tugs my shirt off and throws it over his shoulder. My bra is next. Reaching behind me, he unhooks it and pulls it off me in one fluid motion, letting it drop to the floor. Now, I’m only in my jeans, naked from the waist up.
He pulls back to study me, and for the first time, I don’t feel self-conscious. Maybe it’s because of the way he’s looking at me—with hunger and appreciation, like a starving man staring down a buffet. This guy can have any girl on campus, but it’smehe wants.
There’s something very addictive about that.
Feeling bold, I push my hands under his shirt and run my fingertips along the ridges of his six-pack. His skin is tight, warm, the muscles flexing against my fingers. With his back rigid, he pulls in a shaky breath, and I can tell he’s trying to hold himself back…
But it’s like putting a leash on a wolf.
It’s only a matter of time before that leash snaps.
For once, I want to be the one in control. I’m tired of being pushed around—by him, by my brother, by my own conflicted feelings. Something sparks inside me, a thrill at seeing the all-powerful Christian West struggling to restrain himself because ofme.
Power tastes delicious on my tongue, and I’m thirsty for more of it.
Struggling to hold back a smile, I push back and retreat several steps, putting a little distance between us. He looks confused before taking a step forward, reaching for me.
“Ah,” I say, hand out. It manages to stop him. “Stay where you are. Remove your shirt.”
My voice is firm, and for once, I’m the one giving the orders. And the look on his face when he realizes it? So unbelievably priceless.
Narrowing his eyes, he just stands there for a second, the air between us charged with tension. I can practically see the internal struggle playing out behind those pale eyes—his instinct to dominate wrestling against my demand that he yield. No one challenges Christian West. Yet here I am, daring to do just that, and instead of shutting me down, he’s...considering it, which feels like a win.
Seconds later, he drags his teeth over his bottom lip—a movement so unintentionally seductive it makes my stomach flip—and does what he’s told. He pulls his shirt over his head, deliberately slow, never breaking eye contact, and drops the fabric at his feet. It’s compliance, yes, but barely. Somehow, he’s managed to make submission feel like he’s still the one in control.
Damn.
His pecs twitch as I stare at him, drinking in the sight of his toned body. He’s a masterpiece of tan, muscled perfection. His jeans hang low on his lean hips, a light dusting of hair trailing from his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his pants.
Something animalistic stirs inside me—a raw, clawing need for Christian that catches me completely off guard. I need his cock buried inside me again, and judging by the thick bulge in his jeans, he’s ready to deliver.
My nipples tingle, and there’s a pulse thumping rapidly between my thighs. One word from me, and I know he’d toss me down on the bed, and fuck me exactly the way I need it, but this boy needs to be taught a lesson in humility.
“Strip,” I order him, flicking my chin and pointing at his pants.
“I don’t think you realize who you’re talking to,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous register as he steps forward.
I bring my hand up, and by some miracle, it stops him again.
“I call the shots around here,” he says, flashing me with a withering stare I feel all the way down to my bones.
This is where most people would give in. That commanding tone, that deathly glare—I imagine it’s why so many people are afraid of him. If I had any sense, I’d be afraid, too. But I don’t have any sense, apparently, so I push past the instinct to back down…
“Strip,” I repeat, swallowing past the uncertainty that rises up inside me. “And get on the bed.”
His pecs twitch again as he considers his options. Clearly, this is foreign to him—being submissive—and I hold my breath, hyperaware that this power dynamic could snap any second.
He shifts like he’s going to reach for me, and on instinct, I respond—shifting back on my heel, ready to run if this little adventure goes sideways. He must sense it, because his eyes narrow and he studies my face, calculating.
Then—shockingly—he exhales, and with measured movements he kicks off his shoes, peels away his socks, and then unbuttons his jeans and slides them down along with his boxers—all while keeping eye contact.
Now he’s standing naked in front of me, powerful and unapologetic, his thick cock jutting out like he’s still the one in charge, despite everything. Seeing him like this makes my breath catch and my mouth water.
God. Damn. He’s so beautiful.
