Page 32 of The Chase

“Fuck. Me.” He grounds out each word. “Mia, do you know how fucking irresistible you are?”

“What?” I pant.

Pant? Why the hell can’t I breathe?

“The way you nibble that bottom lip sends me crazy.”

I suck in another breath as his finger continues its trail down my neck. Butterflies attack my chest as heat leisurely rolls along my collarbone, his touch sending heat between my legs.

I’d vowed to myself to hate Austin Whitlock until I, or he, leaves Boston, and now I can feel the distinct wetness between my legs.

This is not hate, Mia.

“You want me,” he murmurs.

How the hell does he know? His hands are very much on top of my clothes and not near my panties.

I breathe in. “I want pancakes every morning, but the indulgence would make me fat.”

He’s dangerous to my health…and my heart.

His chuckle dances over me as the hazel darkens. Streaks of warm chocolate bursts within the green. I know what I’m doing and it’s dangerous. The more I give him, the more he will take, and then where will I be?

My heart jerks in surprise as he steps back.

“You can take the bed, I’ll take the floor.”

What?

The quick lick of disappointment shocks me. My breath catches as he unbuttons his shirt, and I’m ashamed to admit that I watch his fingers tease every button open and wishing that I’m the one doing it. I swallow and drop down onto the bed, turning away from him.

“Night, M.I.A.,” he murmurs.

I pull the covers over me. “Goodnight, Austin.”

I wake to the nightmare choking me as Austin does everything to pull me from the dream. His hand reaching out and caressing my clammy face. "Mia, what is it?"

"Nothing, I'm fine.” I push at his hand and scrub my face.

“It didn’t sound like nothing to me,” he murmurs.

I look at him. "Coffee?" I ask, feeling an overwhelming need to escape him and the ropes of muscles that are too close to touch.

The bed dips as he retreats, giving me much needed breathing room. "I'll get it."

A light fills the room, making me squint. I pull the covers over my body. “Well, I guess this is a different kind of one-night stand that you’re used to,” I snort, having no idea what to say in this awkward moment.

Hazel darts to me. “I don’t have one-night stands.”

I open my mouth to argue but he’s across the room in seconds. His face impossibly close to mine. My eyes dart to his lips, ones that smirk in acknowledgement. I look back to the hazel.

“I don’t sleep around. The podcast lies.”

I swallow. “And if I was to ask around?”

He casually shrugs before he rests his thumb in the dent in my chin.

I shouldn’t like it. But I do. It creates a warm heat near my belly button.

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