Page 90 of Things I Wish I Said
I don’t need his answer because I can see it in his eyes.
I scoff. “It’s not because I’m sick, huh?” I glance away from him, fighting the lump in my throat. “Maybe it’s just because you’re not attracted to me.”
“Are you fucking serious right now, Ry?”
I shrug, saying nothing.
“I think you could tell just how untrue that statement was when you were grinding up against me.”
I flush, remembering how hard he felt against the small of my back. “Then itisbecause I’m sick.”
“It’s not—”
“Then why? Explain it to me like I’m a freaking toddler, Grayson,” I say, feeling my temper rise. “Because if I were any other girl, we would’ve done a lot more than kiss, and you know it.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches. “I’ll hurt you. When this ends, and we part ways, you’ll be hurt if we . . . take things too far.”
“Wasn’t it you who said it’s not always about liking someone? That sometimes it’s just about sex?”
He flinches. “Yes, but—”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t believe in happy endings either?” I snap. “Look at me? Does it look like fate has been kind to me?” I laugh bitterly. “I’m not asking you to marry me. God, you make me sound so pathetic, like some sap of a girl who just fawns all over the first boy to give her attention. Like I can’t get—”
His mouth is on mine before I can finish thesentence.
Goose bumps cover my skin as sensation floods my senses.
His tongue slides into my mouth as his hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt where he palms my breasts, roughly, like he’s trying to prove a point.
Message received.
I gasp, my heart beating so hard I’m sure he can hear it. If he’s testing my resolve, he’ll lose.
I reach for the waistband of his shorts, but he shifts his body, hovering above me so that I have to lean up to touch him.
His mouth finds my jaw, my neck, the sensitive skin just below my ear where the sound of my breathing is all I can hear.
My thoughts scatter, filled with nothing but Grayson when he returns to my mouth and nips my lower lip.
I moan in response and slide my hands into his hair, tugging before dragging my nails over his scalp, eliciting a throaty moan that sets my insides on fire.
I move my hands lower, clutching at his shirt when his hands slip beneath my bra once more, his touch featherlight before he grips my breasts harder, sending the ball of heat building in my center farther south.
Needing more, I arch, reaching for him and dipping my hand below the elastic of his gym shorts where I grip him.
He curses against my mouth, so I pump my hand.
He responds in kind by kissing me harder, until my lips are swollen and my head spins, and I don’t even realize he’s moving until his hands encircle my wrists, pinning them to the bed above my head as he leans down to my ear.
“Let me make you feel good, Ry,” he whispers, sending a shiver down my spine.
I nod, unable to speak, knowing it’s better than the mortifying moan threatening to leave my lips.
One hand slips beneath my ass, lifting me and angling me so the throbbing in my center aligns perfectly with his groin.
I buck, moving my hips against his hardness, and he groans.
My skin catches fire.
