I crawl into my creaky cot, feeling it wobble as I berate myself for being so stubborn that I thought this rickety little kid’s bed—that’s probably seen some nighttime accidents—was a better idea than sleeping in the same bed as Jasper.
The thump of his feet across the room actually shakes the cot. I’ve got my back turned to him and my eyes squeezed shut, so my auditory sense is heightened. I can hear him putting on clothes. The zipper on his bag. The wispy popping noise of his big, stupid head coming through the neckhole of his shirt.
The head that pops up every time I close my eyes lately. How could he have seen me this way for so long and said nothing? Watched me date other Almost marry one?
I guess I should ask myself the same question. Maybe I have a small, stupid head. Maybe we were both so good at hiding it and convincing ourselves that the other could never feel the same that we’ve spent years staring at each other from a distance.
The entire thing is profoundly stupid.
Suddenly I’m aware of the heat of his body behind mine, his soft exhale at the back of my neck as he drops to his knees beside the cot. “What do you think you’re doing?”
His nearness. His voice. It’s too much. A shiver races down my spine, and I clamp my lips tight against each other to stifle whatever desperate little noise would leap from them.
“Going to sleep. You should too. Been a long day,” I whisper back huskily.
“Do you really think that I’m going to let you sleep on this joke of a cot? Or just walk away after that?”
“I don’t need—”
“Come to bed,” he urges, not backing down.
“I am in bed,” I grumble back stubbornly.
“The big bed, Sloane.”
“Seriously, get fucked, Gervais. Go snuggle with your secrets, you exhausting, broody asshole. I’m not leaving this mattress. I’m putting my foot down.”
I peek at him over my shoulder, and he gives me a little smirk. “There she is.”
“Yes,” I huff, turning away and hearing the mattress creak. “Here I am.”
Hands reach between the thin mattress and the metal coils beneath it. I go rigid as Jasper drops his mouth to the shell of my ear. “I told you that you aren’t sleeping here. And I fucking meant it.”
When he lifts me, I squeal. The mattress is so shitty it curls up around me, making me into a little Sloane taco.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shout at him, not wanting to squirm too hard in my precarious position.
He turns with me and the mattress and all the bedding in his strong hold and takes three long strides toward the bed before gently plopping me down on the king-size bed.
I sit up, glaring at him, but he takes no notice. In fact, he turns around, grabs the cot frame, drags it to the door, and tosses it out into the hallway with a loud metal clang. Then he locks the door struts back to the bed.
Looking all fucking smug and satisfied.
“Did you hear me, Gervais? I asked you what the hell you think you’re doing?”
He flips the covers back on his side of the bed, a few inches lower than where I’m lying beside him, and flops onto the bed.
“Are you smiling?” My voice is shrill now.
“You told me you weren’t leaving that mattress, Sunny. I’m just trying to respect your wishes.”
I punch him in the bicep, and he laughs.
“Your mood swings are out of control. Do you know that?” I drop back down, turning away from him. I punch my pillow, agitation lining every movement. “Everyone talks about women being too emotional. Too hormonal. I’m inclined to think men are the problem. Us women would be just fine without all of you fucking us up.”
I hear him struggling to contain his laughter as I lie on my side, staring at the wall. Silence stretches between us until I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
“You’re right,” he finally responds.
“I am? About what?” My brain isn’t firing because we’ve talked about so many things today, bickered over so many bygones. I don’t even know what I’m right about anymore. Or if I even care about being right.
“Everything.”
I don’t respond. I lie beside him in the dark room and think. And think. And think. Which leads to a lot of uncomfortable tossing and turning. Because what I’m thinking about is his cum dripping down the glass shower encasement. The way his body flexed. The way my name sounded on his lips.
What I’m thinking about has me unsettled and wishing I weren’t lying right next to him. He’s too close and I’ve seen too much. I wish I could un-turn myself on. But I don’t know how.
“Sloane, are you planning on sleeping tonight?” His voice cuts through the quiet room. “Are you uncomfortable? Do I need to get rid of that shitty mattress for you?” I can hear the taunt in his voice.
“I’m extremely comfortable. Thank you very much.”
What I mean is, I’m painfully horny thanks to your little show, but I’m also angry right now.
He chuckles, a deep, soft rumble in the dark. I feel him move closer. “Are you all wound up, Sunny?” I start when the pad of his finger touches the top of my ear. He traces the outer edge down to the lobe.
When his touch moves to the side of my neck, light and reverent, I shiver.
I shake my head no.
His finger moves down and explores the ridge of my collarbone. “Do you need me to lend you a hand?”
I’m about to say no out loud, but his fingers jump to my mouth, pressing on my lips and silencing me.
He drops his head to my ear. “I saw you in there watching me, Sunny. I saw you squeezing your thighs together. So fucking needy.” His fingers leave my lips and move to toy with the thin spaghetti strap that’s strung over my shoulder. “Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it. It’s game on for me now. So I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you need me to lend you a hand?”
I sigh, dreaming of letting myself give in, even just for a minute. I want to give in, and I told myself I’d start taking what I want.
“I’m upset. I’m confused. I’m angry about the state of my life. But I . . . yes, I want that.”
He slides the strap down and presses a kiss to the top of my shoulder. “I know you are.” I shiver. “But we can be angry together. Because I can’t stand seeing his ring on your finger.”
I glance at my flattened hand on the pillow and reach for the ring, suddenly desperate to take it off, but Jasper’s opposite hand pushes my arm back down before slipping under the black fabric of my tank top.
He palms my breast, tweaking my nipple. I buck against the sheet covering my body and moan. “I’m going to make you come, with his ring on, as one final fuck you to that asshole. And then you can go back to being mad at the world. I don’t blame you one bit. And when you’re done with having your moment, we’ll talk.”
I scoff but it holds no bite. “What does that even mean? We’ll talk?”
His teeth graze my shoulder. “It means I want you, Sloane. But I’m complicated. The things I like, the things I want, the way my head works. You’re so light and shiny. I don’t want to tarnish you. I don’t want to hurt you.” His teeth sink into my shoulder, and I buck back against him, gasping. “More than anything I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t. I promise you won’t,” I breathe out, gasping as he twists my nipple hard enough to jut up against the edge of being painful.
Jasper chuckles, a dark chuckle that holds so much promise. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sloane. I have a special knack for pushing people away. They always take off. And they’re never all that sad to leave me behind.”
Is that really what he thinks? My heart cracks wide open for him. Like it always has.
He glides his hand from under my tank top and lazily trails it down the side of my body, pulling away the flimsy sheet as he goes. So cool and confident.
So practiced.
My knees are tucked up in front of me, so he tugs the hem of my shorts up, exposing the curve of my ass and palming it gently before squeezing with a quiet groan.
And then he’s touching me, stroking my core, spreading the wetness he knew was there. He slips it all over my pussy, painting me with my arousal like he’s proving some sort of point.
His forehead drops against my shoulder, and he groans so deep it sounds like it physically pains him to touch me. “So fucking wet for me,” he says as his lips drag up my shoulder and he dots slow kisses up my neck toward my ear.
His fingers swirl and press down on my clit as he cups me firmly, making me whimper. Making me sound so fucking needy.
He sucks on my neck, hard enough I know it will leave a mark.
I’m about to protest, but he steals my breath instantly as he pushes two fingers inside me. My body arches to accommodate him.
“Have you been pretending other people were me all these years? Just like me? I bet you have.”
“Oh god.” I moan and push back on his fingers. He eases them out and twists them back in, painfully slow. I savor the pure longing in every motion.
It’s delicious torture. And that’s what I like.
“You might be wearing his ring, but we both know it was my cock you were riding in your head,” he husks across my skin.
Embarrassment swirls with arousal. He’s not wrong. Well, not entirely. He’s wrong about Sterling and I having much sex at all. During the short time we were together, I managed to get an awful lot of migraines or be stuck training at the studio until late.
His fingers work me and I feel myself leaking, growing more aroused the more he touches me. The more he talks to me.
He pushes up onto one elbow so that he’s staring down over me. “Look at me, Sloane.”
I’ve kept my eyes fixed on the darkened wall ahead of me until now. Looking at him feels like . . . a lot. Like laying myself bare for him when I’ve told him so much and he’s given me so little.
I decide to stay facing the wall, protect what little shreds of my heart and dignity might still be mine. Because Jasper Gervais consumes every other part of me.
He pulls his fingers out, and I roll onto my back, ready to demand he keeps going, but as soon as my eyes meet his, his hands are back on me.
“I don’t like to ask twice,” is all he says before plunging his fingers into my pussy. I clench and moan, relieved have him back inside me. “Eyes on me,
All I can do is stare at his dark blue eyes fixed so tightly on me. His body expertly works mine, and that exquisite pressure builds, twisting itself up from every corner of my body.
I’m mad at him for all the things he hasn’t told me.
But I’m also attached to him.
Probably already forgiven him.
Most likely irretrievably in love with him.
“When you’re fucking someone else, who are you thinking about?” he rasps. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Why? Are you jealous?” I prod him, trying to avoid the inevitable, trying to get him to give me some shred of feeling when he’s always locked up so damn tight.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Jealous is only the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I was the man touching you.” His hand takes a tour of my curves as he talks. “The man palming these pretty tits. The man with his head between these thighs making you scream. The man filling up this tight little pussy every night.”
My breathing goes ragged.
“Tell me, Sloane.”
This is one of those things I keep in the dark recesses of my mind, away from the light of day. And now he’s asking me to just admit it?
He adds a third finger and strums my clit with his thumb, making me buck wildly.
“You. It’s always been you.” I spit the words out with force. It’s the only way to get them past the logical part of my brain telling me to keep these secrets locked up tight.
“Of course it has,” he growls. “And now I’m going to remind you why.”
And then his lips crash down on mine, claiming me like I’ve always dreamed he would.
We pour ourselves into this kiss. The good. The bad. The longing. The hurt. The love.
His body softens, and he drapes himself over me, one hand tangling in my hair while the other works between my legs. I adjust, spreading myself and giving him better access. I give myself to him, and he gives a little piece of himself to me.
After all, he’s Jasper. The boy with sad eyes and a heart of gold.
I’ve always trusted him and I always will.
The thought of him, of us, wraps around the magical way his fingers touch me, and I careen toward that edge. My vision goes spotty, my lips feel numb, and an ache unfurls behind my hip bones.
“Jasper,” I whisper between soft, searching kisses. “Oh god. Oh shit. Oh, oh—”
And then I freefall. My body thrashes as a powerful release washes over me. My vison goes fuzzy at the edges while I luxuriate in the most intense orgasm of my life. And Jasper just keeps holding me tight, watching every little move I make with rapt fascination.
With adoration.
Then his lips move down to dot kisses over my entire face. My fingers tangle in his wet hair, and my body softens when he says, “See, Sloane? You can wear someone else’s ring, but we both know you’ve always been mine.”
