Page 102 of Bottle Shock
I press a hand to his chest. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
His gaze snaps to mine. Not embarrassed. Not defensive. He’s looking at me with the kind of carnal need that sends myheart beating in a frenzy, pulse racing, pressure building between my hips.
“Yes, I got fucking jealous.”
I swallow, trapped in his stare. “Why?”
His hand slides from my my waist, down my hips and around the curve of my ass, slow and deliberate, like he’s claiming territory one inch at a time. “Because you’re mine.”
An exhale punches out of me. My voice tries to be teasing but comes out breathy instead. “Oh. Yours?”
One of his hand lifts, fingers brushing my jaw, my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low enough to vibrate in my chest. “Mine.”
The air thickens, like a cloud of lust and desire is wrapping around us.
I rise onto my toes, my hands sliding up his chest. “I am yours. And you’re mine. I want you, only you.”
His exhale is shaky.
And then his mouth is on mine.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me back until my legs hit the edge of the bed. I fall back against it with a soft bounce, and he follows, bracing himself over me, his knee sliding between mine, heat pressing into heat.
His lips trail down my jaw, to my throat, to the spot beneath my ear that makes my heartbeat trip over itself.
“I’ve never felt this kind of jealousy before,” he murmurs against my skin. “It’s like I can’t control it.”
My fingers curl in his shirt, pulling him closer because I need him closer. “Why do you think you feel it?” I whisper, barely holding steady.
“Because I’ve wanted you for so long. I can’t handle the thought of someone coming between us. And it’s not just him—it’s anyone. I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when I finallyhave you.”
My heart does that dizzying, too-fast, too-full thing again. That falling thing. That terrifying, exhilarating, I’ll never come back from this thing.
His mouth crashes back to mine—deeper, hungrier, full of that jealousy and need. His hand slides under my shirt, fingers splaying across my lower back, dragging heat through my skin.
I gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him.
His knee shifts between my thighs and I instinctively rock against him, chasing friction, chasing relief, chasing him.
He groans—low and rough, like I just knocked him off balance. “Scottie…”
The sound of my name like that—like a prayer, like a warning, like worship—nearly undoes me.
I tug him down, lips brushing his ear. “I want you,” I whisper. “Right now.”
His breath stutters—and then a floorboard creaks somewhere down the hallway.
We freeze.
Not because we want to.
But because we’re in a stranger’s house.
With people.
Gavin’s forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard, caught halfway between falling apart and holding it together.
