sounding rattled, unsure. He grabs a fistful of hair as he waves his other hand between the two of us. “We just can’t act on this, okay?”
“This. What do you mean by this?” I ask, feigning innocence as the bathroom door widens to give me a better view of his body. Lord, talk about a big yummy snack. Everything about the man is hard. Every damn inch of him delicious, and there are an awful lot of inches. I resist the urge to throw my hands up and shout out a cheer.
“You know what I’m talking about,” he growls through clenched teeth, a good indication that he’s wound as tightly as I am. Damned if I don’t like that.
Sexual tension arcs between us, sizzles in the air like a live current, as I say, “Just so you know, my sex life is my business, not my brother’s. If I wanted to sleep with you, or bend over so you could bury yourself inside me, the choice would be mine to make.”
His throat works as he swallows. “Don’t you think I have a say in it, too?”
“Yes, of course. I’m just saying. I’m a grown woman, Roman, or haven’t you noticed?” I stretch out a little more and his eyes darken.
“I’ve noticed.”
“What I do with my body is up to me.” I sink down onto the edge of my unmade bed, and by small degrees I inch my knees open. A welcome invitation he’s fully aware of judging by the clenching of his muscles. “The fact is you want me to hate you, and I do, and that creates a huge problem.”
“Yeah, huge,” he mumbles, and I resist the urge to see if he’s currently sporting anything huge.
“Pretending to like each other, or even touch each other in public, will be a hard task.”
“Yeah, hard,” he says, and I bite my bottom lip as I fake a repulsed shiver.
“I’m just thinking about the difficulties we’re going to face.”
“Oh, is that what you’re thinking about?”
“I can’t even imagine how much I’d hate it if you touched me. If you put your hand here,” I say, and lightly run my finger up my inner thigh, “it would be horrible. The thoughts of you using your tongue.” I crinkle up my face. “That would be worse, I’m sure.”
“Peyton,” he says, his nostrils flaring, his control fraying around the edges. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I bite back a smile as his rough voice caresses my body, the air in the room vibrating with the tension arcing between us. He stands before me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as he battles an internal war, one I intend to win. My flesh tightens as I lightly stroke myself, a light feathery caress that stirs the restless desire in me.
“Just don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask again. “Don’t imagine how awful it would be to have your hands on me, your mouth between my legs, devouring me, you mean?”
“Fuck.” His voice is deep, tight, revealing the lust he’s trying to keep in check.
“Right, and fucking.” I roll my eyes as my heartbeat speeds up. “My God, don’t even get me started on imagining how much I’d hate that.”
He stares at me, his pupils dilating, each breath harsher than the one before. “Peyton,” he says again.
“Yes?”
“Maybe...” He begins and stops. He scrubs his chin, agony all over his face.
“Go on...” I encourage, and his gaze drops, watches my fingers dip under the fabric of my shorts. A little whimper catches in my throat as I widen my legs even more to tease him. Tempt him.
As I take in the strength and power of the man before me, a tortured sound rumbles from the depths of his throat and his laser focus centers on the hot spot between my legs. “Maybe you don’t have to imagine it?”
Yes!
“Excuse me?” I say as I study the bead of water dripping down his chest, disappearing into his towel. My throat dries. My God, the man is perfect, and judging by the bulge in that towel, he wants me every bit as much as I want him, and I damn well plan to do my best to make it happen.
Like an animal free of its tether—untamed and feral—he shoves my door open. It hits the wall with a thud as he steps into my room, and pleasure gathers in a knot deep between my thighs as his presence overwhelms the space, making me feel small and delicate beneath his glare. But his size doesn’t intimidate me. No,