Page 166 of Hide and Keep

I’d take his begrudging handouts like a pigeon takes crumbs—ravenously. But that doesn’t make it right. Because he doesn’t actually want me. He only fingered me out of his delusional sense of duty.

Crue lifts his head, almost capturing my lips, forcing me to jerk back.

“Except for that.”

“God-fucking-damn it!” he roars before fisting the front of my shirt, pulling me back down.

I start to panic, my hands scrambling against the floor to keep him from closing the distance completely. Suddenly, one of them gets trapped against his ribs, then we’re rolling, reversing positions.

One second, I’m hovering over him, the next, he’s straddling my stomach, his definitely-bigger-than-four-inches cock digginginto me because he’s hard. Very hard. Is that what he was hiding under those hands?

“I want to kiss you.”

He does? Like actually?

“Too bad,” I make myself say. “I said no. Not. That.”

“Tell me why?”

“Tell me what you did to get out of that first?”

“In that position, you gotta squirm, flop, anything to get out.”

I snort out a laugh of disbelief. “Flop?”

“We literally call the person on bottom a fish. Then you straighten your legs, trap whatever hands you can against your sides, and roll until you’re back in control. Now, why the fuck can’t I kiss you? No one will ever know you kissed the help.”

It has nothing to do with who you are, Crue, and everything to do with who I am!

“I didn’t say you couldn’t kiss me.”

He’s instantly lowering, and I have to whip my head to the side to finish, “I said you can’t kiss mymouth.”

Does he want to kiss me likethat?

“But only if you want to…”

Please want to.

“Only if I want to?” he questions against my cheek, his full lips dragging over my skin, turning that pulse in my pussy into an ache.

All I can do is pant, the sound loud and honestly kind of embarrassing. Why is this so hot? This is nothing special. For the last five months, I’ve had guy after guy stuck to my neck like suckerfish cleaning a tank. But something about Crue doing it feels different internally.

Crue kisses down the side of my throat, asking at my collarbone, “Does it feel like I want to?” Jamming one knee between mine, he spreads them apart to settle himself betweenmy thighs, then rolls his hips into me, his solid cock grinding against my pussy.

Barely over my heavy breathing, I hear him say, “For you? The stuck-up, spoiled little brat that hates the mere sight of me?”

One hand gripping the back of his head to keep him in place, I wrap my legs around his back, hooking my ankles and bringing him in even harder.

“I thought we already established it’s not the sight of you I hate, Major.”

“You mean how your pussy cries for me?”

“Weeps,” I correct with a hip roll of my own.

Crue groans into my neck.

“Because you want my cock to fill you up?”

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