Page 98 of After All This Time

"Fine." That bottom lip disappears between her teeth, and my blood turns molten. "Go for it."

I nod, positioning myself behind the cue ball. My hands are steady, and the cue balances perfectly between my fingers. With a sharp crack, the break sends the balls scattering across the table, each one spinning off in a different direction.

"Your move, Firefly."

She leans forward, her eyes locking on mine, and I fight the urge to let my eyes drop to the swell of her breasts that have been teasing me all fucking night. She takes her shot, hitting a solid red ball clean and hard. It drops into the pocket, and she moves around to line up the next one.

"Why did you give up your flight ticket?"

"Because I wanted to ride with you."

She moves to my left, bending over for her next shot, and my eyes track the curve of her ass, imagining my hands there, gripping, claiming… Another ball drops in the pocket.

"Why do you hate Tate?"

"Because he wants you."

She misses her next shot, and thank fuck, because I've got questions burning holes in my chest. I line up the shot and watch as the ball easily rolls into the pocket. I straighten, meeting her gaze across the table.

"Did you ever have any intention of dating him?"

"No."

Another ball follows, and I ask the next question that's been clawing at me.

"Why did you make me believe you were going to call him over that night in your room?"

"Because I wanted to make you jealous."

"Why?"

"You didn't hit a ball in."

Fuck the game.

I stalk around the table until she's trapped between me and the edge, with nowhere to go.

"I don't care. Tell me."

"Because I was jealous."

"Of?"

I see it in her eyes. The exact moment something inside her breaks.

"The girl you brought home, the girl from the bar, anyone you wanted that wasn't me. Every single fucking person who got to have a piece of you while I had to want you in silence." Her confession punches the air from my lungs, leaving me wrecked. "My turn," she whispers, her voice breathless as I step closer, taking her cue and laying it on the table along with mine.

"Ask," I demand, though it feels more like begging.

However, at this point, I don't really care.

"Why did you bring me down here?"

"You know why. You wouldn't be down here with me if you didn't."

The words barely escape me before I claim her mouth, crashing against her lips with the desperation I've been holding back since I last tasted them. She gasps as I lift her onto the table—that sweet, addictive sound I've been dreaming about.

When her thighs spread for me, it's like coming home—like this space between her legs was created just for me, like we were always meant to fit together this way, no matter how many people try to tell us it's wrong.

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