“Yet you want me.” It’s not a question. I know desire when I see it.
The flush deepens on her cheeks, spreading down her throat. “That’s not—”
“Don’t lie,” I cut her off. “Not about this.”
Her breathing quickens as I trail my fingers down her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my touch.
“Yes,” she whispers, the confession dragged out of her.
I slide my hand into her hair, gripping it just tight enough to tilt her face up to mine. Her lips part, those green eyes wide with a cocktail of fear and want.
“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” I ask, my voice rough.
I slide my fingers deeper into her hair, gripping the strands until her breath hitches. Pain and pleasure—the razor’s edge I’ve walked my entire life.
“I said, What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
She doe
