Page 50 of Facing Off
She wriggles, scoffing.
The corners of my mouth fall. ”Maybe you should just… stop moving?” I suggest, though my heart’s racing.
“Why? I’m not even touching—that—obscene hockey stick in your shorts,” she stammers. “So, why?”
It takes me a beat to get it. That she’s referring to my overall twitching body.
I tilt my chin and stare up at the ceiling, laughing hoarsely. “You think it’s only that one part of me that wants you?”
Of all the times to confess again…
“Yeah, right.” Her tone is weird and defensive. “More like someone needs to get laid often or they suffer withdrawals. How long has it been? A day?”
You have no idea how long it’s been and how hard I’d beg if there was a chance you’d put me out of this fucking misery and want me as much as I want you.
I reach out to where her top has gotten caught on my robe, but she knocks my hand away before I can solve the issue. “You’re going to ruin it with those clunky hockey hands.”
Clunky hands?!
God, she’s impossible. And that’s exactly why I can’t stay away. Most people flinch at the bite in her voice. Me? I live for it—and I’ve missed it. This past year, when we barely saw each other, I craved her frowns. Her quick glare, the heat in her gaze, the way she manages to make me feel both challenged and completely undone.
“Sonya.Come on.You must know.”
“Know what?”
“What my hands can do to you if you let them. There wouldn’t be anything clunky about it.”
Her breath turns choppy, and her fingers jerk, pulling at the robe fabric. “New rule. N-No more talking.”
Her cheeks flush, and suddenly she can’t meet my eyes. Maybe she’s not as unaffected as she wants me to think. I shouldn’t read into it but damn, it’s hard not to.
“Do you like this?” My tone deepens, catching somewhere in my chest. “Being on top of me, darling? How perfectly we’d fit together, even though I’m almost twice the size of you?”
More color rushes up her neck, chasing across her cheeks.
“Me? Wantthis? As if.”
Her complete denial hits me like a punch to the chest. Iwince, then try hiding my reaction by interlacing my hands behind my head.
“Are you flexing? Is that supposed to make me feel anything?” The pitch of her voice is higher than normal. “Because it didn’t. You can do whatever you want, I don’t care. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”
More wounded pride zips down my spine. She really thinks that? This doesn’t mean anything to her? “You wouldn’t say that if I could touch you right now,” I say.
Her eyes flare. “Like that would matter.”
“Give me permission then, darling.”
Something flickers across her face, gone before I can read it. Her fingers flex against my chest. “Why? What…would you do?”
Suddenly I feel my heart skipping, thudding too fast under my ribs. I hold my breath, lift my hands, and hover them over her upper thighs. “Say yes and find out. Prove how little you care.”
Come on…say yes. Just one word, darling.
My throat works and my muscles clench as I wait for her answer.
Do I keep pushing, or is that going to make her pull back and shut me out?
I don’t know. Mirrored back to me is more suffering or frustration. She’s swallowing repeatedly, her nostrils flaring.
