Page 21 of Worth the Scandal
“I’m trying to focus,” I mutter. “Getting you home safe. Not breaking the rules.”
Ted’s rules. No touching. No dating her. No distractions.
She taps her lips like she’s considering a counterpoint. “Technically, didn’t we already break that promise? Isn’t this double jeopardy?” Huh old movie for her to know, I watched it a few times as a kid.
I shoot her a sideways glance and damn near crash the car. Her smirk. Her sarcasm. Her eyes flicking downtherelike she’s not even trying to hide it.
“How many drinks have you had, darling?” I ask, half teasing, half warning.
She purrs back some smartass line about driving a hard bargain, and I swear to God she looks again. My jeans are suddenly very tight, and my composure. Shattered. I adjust myself, trying to get some breathing room. Trying not to think about how good her mouth would feel again.
Then she grabs my hand. And I think maybe she’s going to hold it, like anormalperson. But no. She draws my damn finger into her mouth and swirls her tongue around the tip.
I nearly crash the car for real this time.
“Scarlett,” I breathe, voice hoarse, trying not to come undone at a red light, “Please don’t. You know this can’t happen.”
She deflates beside me. I hate the way her face falls. Like I’ve rejected her. Like she doesn’t know that saying no is killing me.
“I just…” I start, then stop. Grip the wheel harder. “I’ve worked too hard to get here. I’m risking everything right now just driving you home.”
I glance at her. She’s not looking at me anymore.
“But I couldn’t leave you behind,” I say softly. “Not with Brendan. Not with anyone else.”
We pull into her driveway, the front door light flickering on like it’s warning me to get out of here before I make the worst decision of my life.
She reaches for the handle, and I panic. The air in the car is suffocating me now, the windows are closing in—
“Wait.”
I wrap my fingers firmly around her wrist, and tug her gently toward me. Her face is right there. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to ruin us both. I want to do it, but I don’t.
“But just so we’re clear,” I whisper, letting my voice drop low, thick with every repressed fantasy I’ve carried for two years, “I’ll be thinking about your perfect fucking ass in the shower tonight—and probably every night—with these hands wrapped tight around my cock.”
I press my lips against her forehead—light, reverent, aching.
“Goodnight, darling.”
She stares at me like she might combust. Then she stumbles out, giving me a half-assed wave. I wait until I see a light turn on in the house before I finally pull away from the curb.Yeah, two can play the teasing game darling.
All I’ve done is worked myself up.
Twenty Minutes Later
The shower hisses as cold water pelts my skin, but it’s no match for what’s already burning through me.
I lean both hands against the tiles, head bowed—the cool touch of the tiles is providing some solace—steam is curling off my shoulders, and I let myself go back. To her. To that night.
She kissed like we’d done it a hundred times already. No hesitation. No fear.
I remember the way she pushed me against the elevator wall, hands slipping under my shirt, fingertips skimming over my ribs like she was memorising me. I remember the soft gasp she let out when I pulled her lip between my teeth and pressed down. The way her breath stuttered when I lifted her onto the kitchen bench like she weighed nothing.
No names. No small talk. Just chemistry.
I undressed her slowly. Delicately. Her bra slipped off like a silk ribbon unraveling from a neatly wrapped present. I kissed every inch of skin I revealed like it was sacred. Like she was. Her hips rolled against mine and I lost my goddamn mind.
She whispered things into my ear that made me want to ruin her for anyone else.
