Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(59)

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.