Page 63 of Let Me
“Do you always fuck men you hate?” I ask her, one hand on her collarbone, the other unbuttoning her pants. She doesn’t bother fighting back.
“Caden,” she says through tangled breaths, “I don’t hate you.”
I laugh. “You’re going to, after this.”
Then I get to my knees, eyes still on hers, and undo her belt buckle, yanking down her pants, gripping her thighs. She’s tense in my hands, and I’m glad. I’m glad she doesn’t think this is fun and games. Because it isn’t. It never was with me.
She puts her hands on my head and steps out of her pants, her breathing uneven.
I don’t think about the cameras. I don’t think about Benji. I don’t even think about my stupid fucking father as I met her gaze, still on my knees.
All I can think about is her.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Present
HE’S OFF HIS KNEES, pressing against me again, one hand on the wall beside us. I have no idea why we’re doing this. He didn’t want me for dinner. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted this. And after all these years, I fucking do too.
“Let me,” he says, voice low, his hand running up my thigh.
“You hate me,” I whisper, knees trembling.
He smiles against my throat. “I don’t need to love you forthis,Riley.Let me.”
My legs part for him, and his hand slides down my panties, and I moan, bucking into his touch.
“Oh Riley,” he says softly, his face in my neck, “you’re so wet. For me.”
I shouldn’t be here. Benji’s warning is ringing in my ear, but so is Caden’s words, and his touch, and the scent of him. The feel of him.
I know it isn’t right. It’s so, sowrong.But I push back thoughts of what happened between us. Of the hurt and the anger and how we burned out before we even started.
Caden slides a finger into me and I moan into his shirt, my breath a shuddering gasp. He tilts my head back, his tongue trails down my throat, down my chest, over my shirt. One hand still inside of me, he uses the other to push up my shirt, and then his mouth finds my nipple, tugging it with his teeth.
I groan, arching my back, pressing into him.
He slides another finger inside of me, and my legs shake beneath me.
He goes to his knees again, pulls down my underwear with his teeth and they fall to the floor. Without giving me a chance to step out of them, his tongue slides up and down my slit, and he groans into me.
“You taste so damn good, Riley,” he says, and he nudges my legs further apart, two fingers still inside of me, his tongue flicking up and down my clit.
I run my hands through his dark blonde hair, yanking it as his tongue moves faster and faster between my legs.
“Caden.” I say his name, a whisper on my lips.
His fingers pump harder inside of me, as if he knows I’m close. Of course he knows. He might hate me, we might hate each other, but he knows everything about me. He always has.
When I feel as if I’m going to burst, I close my eyes, grip his hair tighter. My orgasm ripples through me, and I cry out his name again, as if it’s the only name I know. I clench around him, and he keeps his fingers in me as I ride the wave, his tongue licking the length of my slit, my wetness coating his mouth.
My breaths are shallow, but I open my eyes, let go of his hair.
He runs his wet fingers down my calves, and he looks up at me, his ice-blue eyes shining bright even in the darkness. A wicked smile curves his lips.
He’s still wearing clothes: dark jeans, a white dress shirt. I want to rip them off of him. But before I can move, he digs his nails into my legs, just a little.
I still.
