Page 51 of Facing Off
“Fine,” whispers Sonya. “Touch my legs if you want to.”
Hell, yeah.A grin spreads across my face.
She’s wearing leggings, but the material is thin enough for the warmth of her skin to come through. It’s pure bliss when I touch her and yet I know it’s not enough. If we did this all day, I don’t think it would be. No matter how many times I’m allowed to touch her, I’m suddenly terrified it won’t be enough.
Sonya snorts. “You know what I’ve always found sexy? A deep tissue massage, said no one ever.”
A groan rumbles out my chest. Fucking hell, she’s so damn mouthy, and it only makes me want her more. My cock throbs as a matching level of stubborn, playful competitiveness streaks through me. “Yeah? How about this?”
21
SONYA
I’m proving a point.To myself and to him, and giving a massive middle finger to that nonsense dream I had, because the reality of Adrian Hughes touching me meansnothingto me. I’m unmoved. Unbothered to the point of almost yawning. On the verge of rolling my eyes, because I’m so bored.
Except my lungs aren’t working. I’m not breathing as Hughes changes his pressure. Going from massaging my legs to teasing them with his fingertips.
The lightest touch made by hands almost twice the size of mine. Fine hairs on my arms lift, the back of my neck tingles, and I have goosebumps everywhere.
How did we get here? How did this happen? Minutes ago, I was searching for the quickest exit to throw myself out of. And now?
I’m arching forward angrily. Because this is outrage, right? I hate how Hughes’ darkening, half-lidded eyes dare me to feel nothing as he skims his hands up and down my thighs.
I force myself to yawn, and when he smirks, I scratchdown the front of his chest, not really digging my nails in but pressing enough so he feels the threat.
He stutters out a laugh, his lashes lowering. “Do it again, darling.”
Like an idyllic fallen angel, he has strands of his blond hair that almost glow against his dark hardwood floors. He’s taunting me. That chiseled jaw has lifted with arrogance. Though, he might also be blushing, I think.
I take my palms off his warm skin, trying to take back the fact that I touched him back. But it doesn’t work that way.
My fingers tingle as if they want more.Way more. I blink at him, my head spinning at how much raw strength strains underneath me. When he shifts just a little, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple in a way that makes my throat dry.
In a flash, he could flip me over. Rearrange me. Position me to his liking. That’s what Dream Hughes did. I know this Hughes is capable of doing the same, but instead he’s watching me with those careful blue eyes.
“Still working on separating us?” His tone is so smug. ”Or should I take over like you need me to?”
Take over? Flames stoke deep in my belly. And this pulsating starts in my core. I refuse to imagine what he’s implying.
“I don’teverneed you,” I declare, trying to focus on the job. It’s the lowest part of my sweater caught on a button sewn on one of the inner lapels of his slutty robe, which doesn’t require any kind of fastenings there, so it doesn’t make any fucking sense.
I put all my attention into detaching us.
…and that’s a lie.
It’s two percent of my attention, because the restremains stolen by Hughes. He needs to stop stroking tiny circles against my hips, his thumbs seeking out…
Tight muscles.
Like most ballerinas, my hips take the brunt of the hard work I put my body through.
“Shit, you’re tight,” he mumbles.
I blink. And throttle back a moan. His hands have found a particularly tense spot. “S-Stop it.”
“Are you sure?” He smiles, breathing hard and wearing a determined expression. “You feel like you want me to loosen you up.”
“Don’t you ever get sick of it? Of being—this person,” I bite out, because giving him attitude is theleastI have to do when my head has dropped forward.
