Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(58)

“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.”