Is there nothing the girl can say that won’t make me fall harder for her? This I highly doubt.
I turn, my gaze meeting hers with the same intensity it always has, the same I’m about to fuck the fuck right outta ya look it’ll forever possess.
An unsteady breath, followed by an unsteady step forward, and Amber’s chest is pressed to mine, our heart’s beating in bullet-fast sync as she takes my cheeks prisoner between her shaky hands. I try to look away, but she tightens her hold on my face, her eyes narrowed.
“What the hell’s your problem?” she asks through an aggravated huff. “Can’t handle the pressure?”
I slide my hands to her hips, gripping them as I try to contain my urge to kiss her until she begs me to stop. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Now all of a sudden the genius is stupid?” she tosses back, her glare unwavering as she all but smashes her nose to mine. “It means exactly what I said. You’re a pussy, Ryder Ashcroft, a softy. The big, bad, tattooed, pierced former quarterback can’t handle the pressure of sharing me when he thought he could. You agreed to this setup as much as I did. Now all of a sudden it’s too much to take?”
At this point, I have two options, both I’m quite fond of.
One: strip her bare of her Hadley gear, bend her over the entryway table, and show her how unsoft I currently am, her anger hardening my cock by the second.
Two: repeat option one until she can’t take it anymore, her inability to walk straight, for at least a week, my top priority.
I decide on an unplanned option three, my mouth crashing down over hers with lightning speed. She reciprocates with the same angry passion as I tangle my fingers in her hair.
“I hate you,” she hums through a moan, her nails leaving their stamp on the back of my neck as she kisses me deeper, harder. “I swear to God I do.”
“Right,” I growl as I hike her leg up over my waist. “I can tell. I guess our hatred for each other is a mutual feeling, then, peach.”
A moan floats past her lips, her breathing choppy as I lift her off the ground, pressing her back to the cold mahogany door. “You’re staying here tonight,” she says, insistency thick in her rasp as she knots her legs around my waist. “I’m not kidding.” She pulls back and stares straight beyond my soul, a glimpse of sorrow drowning her eyes. “I need you to stay here. Don’t make me feel like you used me, that this was a onetime deal.” She pauses and my heart comes to a dead stop, my breath faltering as a tear slips down her flushed cheek. “I don’t want that with you. I—I don’t know what I want or how either of us is going to deal with any of this, Brock included. All I know, all I feel with everything that makes me, is you and I can’t be a onetime deal. We weren’t placed in each other’s lives to become that. God’s cruel, but I have to believe he has his moments.”
Before he died, my grandfather told me I’d know if I was falling for a woman based on my reaction to her words—that if it wasn’t just simply lust, and I was truly in way over my head, the girl would be able to demolish my senses the second not only her flesh connected with mine but the very moment she opened her mouth. As it stands, Amber’s already the keeper of each and every single one of my senses, the owner of every breath that moves in and out of my lungs. The potency of her touch, her smile, hell, her goddamn spirit, has blinded me from being able to see anyone else but her, her eyes a constant image playing in my head. She’s thieved my ability to hear, the angelic tune of her voice the only sound in my ears. Whether or not she’s near me, the scent of her skin lingers in my nose, my body incapable of smelling anything else but her sweet vanilla perfume.
Yeah, I’m in deep, every inch of me past the point of being in way over my head. What started out as lust for Amber is gone, my absolute need to have her by my side replacing it. This girl’s a rose amid a garden of weeds, her mind, body, and soul a representation of her beautiful petals. Though I know how to take care and love her in the purest way—which is constantly through the silence of time—I’m aware I have to tread lightly. One ugly tug on those petals, one uncareful touch, and she’ll fall apart, withering away, my fingertips bleeding from the painful prick of her thorns.
With that, I nod, however, not without setting boundaries. “All right, peach, you win. But I’m staying on the couch. I don’t belong sleeping in the bed with you and Brock. I just don’t.”
“But if—”
“No,” I whisper, setting her down. I cup her dampened cheeks, my thumbs grazing her quivering lips. “The couch. That’s my limit. I’ll be here when you wake up. I swear I will.” I kiss her forehead, my words remaining soft, calming. “Besides, how can I resist seeing what you truly look like when you crack open those pretty eyes?”
She gives me a weary smile, surrender painting her features. “Okay, but I’m tucking you in, though. No arguing with me on that, or else, got it?”
“Mm. The ‘or else’ has me curious.” I pull her into my embrace, my heart thrumming at how perfectly she fits in my arms. She presses her cheek to my chest, her silken skin a piece of heaven to my racing thoughts as she releases a small sigh of relief. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, realizing how much my douchebag move impacted her. “The last thing I’d ever intentionally do to you is make anything resembling a tear fall from your eyes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”