Page 39 of Habits

My fingers dig into his scalp, running through the soft, messy strands of hair. Tugging at the ends, I pull his head back so I can look into his eyes. His pupils are dilated, gaze hazy—but not with alcohol or any other substance—with lust.

What’s left of those green irises looks at me like he wants to eat me alive, and my body shudders in his arms with need.

Why do I want him so badly?

There’s nothing good or charming about Andrew Hill. He’s everything I’m supposed to stay away from, everything that could be the cause of my fall, yet my body doesn’t seem to get the memo. My body wants him. Even worse,craveshim. And in this moment, I don’t want to resist him.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll let him have all the leverage.

I softly bite into his lower lip, the unspoken warning making him groan into my mouth.

“You don’t hold all the power, asshole,” I whisper in his ear as my lower half brushes against him.

His fingers, still cupping my ass, hold me still, pressed firmly against him. The smirk that spreads over his lips, taunting. “We’ll see about that, Princess.”

* * *

Andrew

You don’t hold all the power, asshole.

Her words echo in my mind as my lips assault hers without mercy. My hands hold her body close although, for all her words, she’s not trying to get away from me. If it’s possible, she’s trying to get closer. Her hand wraps around my neck as her legs squeeze tightly around my waist, my throbbing dick pressing even more into her heated center.

I groan in approval, my hand slipping inside her sweatshirt and caressing the soft skin of her back. When my fingers reach the clasp of her bra, I tug it open.

Breaking the kiss, my lips follow the path of her chin, neck and finally collarbone. Her head is tilted back, her eyes closed, and I can see her pulse hammering in her neck, the result of her rapidly beating heart.

A smug smile appears on my lips as my fingers wrap around the edge of her shirt, ready to pull it off.

“Don’t.” Her hand shoots forward, delicate fingers wrapping around my wrist.

I look up at her suddenly worried face. She’s gnawing at her lower lip worriedly, and all I can think about is soothing her. The need to reassure her, make everything all right, is even stronger than the desire boiling in my blood.

What the hell is happening to me?

“What’s wrong?” My hand cups her face, fingers brushing against her cheek.

Jeanette lets her lip go, the pouty flesh red and plump from our heated kisses.

Sexy.

Inviting.

Not able to resist it, I brush my lips against hers.

Once.

Twice.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I murmur against her lips as I lower her to the bed.

She looks up at me with those dark eyes. So open and vulnerable. Her hair is spread over my pillows, shining against the crispy white sheets.

“Light …” she says, but stops.

I frown. “What about it?”

Color flashes on her cheeks, and for the second time, I see something beneath the cool and composed mask she wears for the world.

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