Page 41 of Flag On The Play
Because this time, I know exactly what I’m getting into, and I can’t stop.
She grinds against me, and I swear to God, I’m in heaven.
Her hands slide into my hair, nails grazing my scalp, and I groan into her mouth.
She tastes like wine and stubbornness. Like everything I’ve been craving and everything I know I shouldn’t have.
Her lips move against mine with a need that matches the pounding in my chest. Her fingers twist in my hoodie as she grinds down against me, and my hands slip beneath that oversized shirt she’s wearing like a damn shield.
“No bra,” I murmur against her neck, my thumbs brushing the soft curves of her waist. “You really trying to kill me?”
She shivers, but that spark in her eyes? It’s not from fear.
“I thought you liked a little pain with your pleasure,” she throws back, breathless.
“You have no idea what I like.” My voice is low, ragged.
“Try me.”
I grip her hips, pressing her harder against me, and she lets out a soft gasp that makes my spine straighten like I’ve just won a game on the final drive. I want her. God, I need her.
But just as my hands move to tug that shirt up, ready to bare everything again, she suddenly pulls back.
Her palm flattens on my chest. Her breathing is shaky. Just like mine.
“Finlay,” she says quietly, “we can’t just keep doing this.”
My hands still.
“We’re not doing anything we both don’t want,” I say, trying to rein in the frustration clawing at the edges of my voice. “Don’t pretend this isn’t real.”
“I’m not,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for once, there’s no armor. No sarcasm. No venom. Just Nova.
“This thing between us? It’s intense. It’s physical. It’s addictive. But if we don’t figure out what it actually is, we’re going to crash and burn.”
I stare at her, heart pounding, blood still roaring through me in all the wrong directions. “You think I’m doing this just for sex?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” she says, her voice sharp. “One minute you’re grinning like the cocky asshole I hated in high school, and the next you’re looking at me like I hung the damn moon. It’s whiplash, Finlay.”
I blink, still trying to catch up. “Nova.”
“I mean it. This can’t happen again,” she says, her eyes flicking between mine, her chest rising and falling fast. “Not until we figure out what the hell this actually is.”
“Are you saying you want more?” I ask, quieter than I mean to.
She lets out a breath, frustration and hope tangling together in it. “I’m saying I need to know what this is before we fall back into bed. Before I let you in again like that.”
Her hands are still on my chest, but she’s not pulling away.
She’s waiting for something real.
And for the first time, I realize she’s not scared of sex. She’s scared of me. Of trusting me. Of being wrong about me again.
“I’m not just chasing you, Nova,” I say, my voice low, raw. “I’m not trying to win some game. You’re not a damn trophy. You’re…shit. You were the one girl I couldn’t forget.”
I don’t press. I let the moment sit.
