Chapter 48 #2
“Juniper,” he whispered, like it hurt. Like my name alone could undo him. His hand curled instinctively, thumb brushing over the peak of my breast in a soft, reverent pass that had me arching into him.
“I’ve waited,” I breathed, lips still brushing his. “So have you. Please.” My hand still covering his, still held his against my breast. “Please.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched like he was holding himself back with every muscle in his body.
But I felt it — the tremble in his hands, the way his hips pressed just a little closer, the way his mouth dropped open like he wanted to say something and couldn’t remember a single goddamn word.
“You’re not making this easy,” he said, voice hoarse, thumb passing over my nipple again. And again.
God.
And again.
“I’m not trying to.”
My fingers found the hem of his shirt, sliding beneath it, running up the warm plane of his stomach until he cursed under his breath.
His hand tightened over my breast, the other curling behind my neck to pull me into another kiss — deep and slow and teetering on the edge of something he was just barely holding back.
“Ansel,” his name left my mouth as a soft moan, arching my back, pressing my breast further into his hand.
But then — with a soft groan of defeat — he broke the kiss and dropped his forehead to my shoulder.
“I want you,” he whispered. “So fucking bad I can’t think straight.
But when I finally get to have you…” He paused, lifting his head, hand still cupping my breast like he couldn’t let go.
“It’s going to be when I can take my time.
When I can make you fall apart over and over without worrying about some idiot with a camera or a damn teakettle or anything else in the world. ”
I was panting now, pupils blown, lips kiss-bruised and parted. But I didn’t argue. Didn’t push.
Because he wasn’t telling me no.
He was promising me more.
So much more.
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
He kissed me again, this time softer — full of everything he wasn’t saying. His hands, still trembling slightly, slid back down to my hips as he stepped away.
“We’re gonna sit here,” he said, voice rough. “We’re gonna drink tea. And then, if you’re really lucky, I might let you pick a movie while I pretend not to stare at your ass the whole time.”
I raised a brow. “Only if I’m lucky?”
“Oh, Junebug.” He grinned as he handed me the mug he’d been preparing this whole time. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”
“Luckiest bastard alive?” I repeated, tilting my head as I took the mug from him — fingers brushing his on purpose, slow and lingering. “You sure about that?”
Ansel narrowed his eyes, suspicion already creeping in. “Juniper.”
But I just sipped from the mug with infuriating innocence. And then — then — I set it down behind me, hooked my ankles around his calves again, and yanked him back in.
Hard.
He stumbled forward with a grunt, hands catching the edge of the counter on either side of my thighs. And I wasted no time — slipping my hands under his shirt again, dragging my nails across his abs like I could carve my initials into him.
“Jesus,” he hissed.
“Still want that movie night, cowboy?” I asked sweetly, trailing one hand down to his waistband — and lower, fingers cupping him through his jeans. “Still want to take your time?”
He twitched in my hand.
Literally.
Fuck.
His eyes rolled halfway back in his head as his hips bucked once, instinctual. Then he gripped the counter hard, jaw locked like he was physically restraining himself from tearing my clothes off and bending me over the stove.
I would have given anything to have him bend me over his stove.
“Junebug—”
“Because I can be patient,” I lied, mouthing at his throat. “I can. But I’m also really, really good at being bad.”
My fingers squeezed deliberately, and his entire body shuddered. He was glorious.
“You are playing with fire,” he growled, voice low and wrecked.
I just smiled, licking a stripe up his throat. “Then burn with me.”
His hand flew to my wrist — not to pull me away, but to still me, just for a second. Just so he could breathe. “You’re killing me,” he muttered.
“You like it,” I whispered. And when I shifted my hips — letting him feel exactly how wet I was through the thin barrier of my pajamas — he whimpered.
Literally. Whimpered.
My mouth was watering.
Then, slowly, torturously, I ground against him.
Ansel’s forehead dropped to my shoulder, whole body trembling. “You are the goddamn devil.”
“And you love me.”
“I do,” he groaned. “God help me, I do.”
I grinned wickedly. “Then touch me like you mean it.”
He groaned, jaw clenched tight. His eyes darkened, stormy, full of everything he wanted but refused to take. “Not yet. Not like this.”
His forehead dipped to rest against mine. “I want you like a goddamn addict. But when I have you… it’s going to be the way you deserve. Slow. Real. Not rushed by adrenaline or half-remembered nights or—”
“Shhh,” I pressed a finger to his lips. “Okay, Ansel. Okay. Let’s watch that movie.”