Page 38 of Don't Say You're Sorry

“And to fuck. God, you were fun to fuck. Remember that thing you used to do with your hips?” he murmurs in my ear. Dropping his controller, it tumbles to the floor as he slides his palm up my inner thigh. He digs his thumb into my hip, his long fingers curling into the crease between my hip and leg. I jolt, my head tipping back on his shoulder. “When you’d ride me and Iwouldn’t let you touch yourself,” he goes on, “so you’d roll your hipsjust rightand make yourself come hands-free. It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”

My nostrils flare. “One of?”

I feel his lips curl into a smile against my face. “Jealous?”

“Asshole.”

He tightens his grip, and I whimper.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes,” I admit. “I’m jealous. It kills me that you’ve been with other people. But I don’t care what you say or how many threesomes you’ve had. There’s no way you’ve had hotter sex than the sex we used to have. There’s no way anyone else gave you what you needed. Only I know how to do that.” I’m panting by the time I’m done, my hips rolling up into nothing, my hands fisting the sofa at my sides.

“So full of yourself,” he teases.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

He doesn’t. I grin.That’s what I fucking thought.

“On your back,” he says.

Desperate to prove myself, I turn around without a second thought, lying flat on my back with my legs on either side of him. He rises to kneel between them, his hands running up my thighs, his fingers curling over my waistband.

“If you touch me, I’ll come,” I warn, knowing he’s not about to let me. I know him well enough to know I haven’t earned it yet.

He keeps going, pulling my sweats down to reveal my hard dick.

“Good thing I’m not planning on touching you then,” he says as he pulls his own dick out.

Straddling me with one leg hooked over my hip, the other between my legs, he fists himself at the base and spits on it, using his free hand to rub it over his length, getting himselfwet. Eyes on my face, he begins slowly jerking himself off, his knuckles just shy of brushing over my cock with every pass. My ass clenches, and my hips move of their own accord, chasing his warmth, the friction of his?—

He presses down on my thigh, keeping me still.

“You gonna mark me?” I ask.

“Mhm.”

Breathing heavily, I flex my hands, wanting to touch him but resisting because I haven’t been given permission to. I open my mouth to ask for it, but he shakes his head, his pace quickening as he pushes the hem of my T-shirt up to my neck, revealing my abs and chest—my tattoo. His hand stays where it is, pinning me down by my throat.

“Not this time, baby,” he says softly. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

I stay completely still, cutting my eyes between his face, his body, and his cock that’s now fucking his fist.

I groan right along with him when he comes on my dick. His hips stutter as he lowers his forehead against mine, his quick breaths hitting my lips, his body jerking with aftershocks.

“Don’t wash it off,” he whispers as he snaps my waistband back into place. “Sleep in it. On your front. I want you to feel me every time you move against the sheets tonight.”

I squirm without meaning to, and he brushes my jaw with his knuckles. Just as I lean into his touch, he pulls back to tuck his cock back into his jeans. Standing, he grabs his phone and our empty beer bottles from the table, clearly planning on leaving me here like this.

“How many people have you been with since me?” I ask.

He pauses. “I don’t know. A lot.”

“How many of them were guys?”

Another pause, and then he turns his head to look at me. “None.”

Hope swirls in my chest.

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