Chapter 49
Juniper curled up beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world — like we hadn’t nearly fucked in the kitchen, like I hadn’t almost ruined both our lives getting arrested this morning. She tucked her legs into my lap, blanket pulled up to her chest, and laid her head on my shoulder.
I felt her everywhere.
The movie played quietly in front of us, but I hadn’t registered a single frame.
Not with the heat of her thigh under my palm.
Not with her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of my shirt.
Not with the way she shifted every now and then, hips dragging over my lap like she didn’t know what she was doing. But she knew. She absolutely knew.
She tilted her head back, her voice quiet. “What time was your call today?”
I kissed her hair before I thought better of it. “Couple hours ago.”
She twisted to look at me. “Wait. You missed it?”
“I was a little busy getting arrested,” I said dryly.
Her laugh cracked through the room, startled and bright. God, I’d missed that sound.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I did text them,” I added, dragging my hand a little higher on her thigh. Casual. Innocent. “Told ‘em something came up.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And what, exactly, came up?”
I grinned. “Me, mostly.”
Her entire face went hot — a deep flush racing down her throat and into the neckline of her shirt. She slapped my chest playfully, half-laughing, half-horrified. “You’re disgusting.”
I shrugged, pretending I wasn’t already half-hard just from being near her.
“Ansel?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“If I straddle you right now and kiss you until we both forget our names, will you stop me?”
A beat. “Probably,” I said. “But it might ruin me.”
Her grin turned wicked. “So you’re saying I have options.”
“June,” I warned, voice low. “Watch the movie.”
“Make me.”
I turned to face her fully, hand still resting on her thigh. “You’re not playing fair.”
“And you’re not playing at all.”
The movie kept rolling. Juniper wasn’t watching it. I wasn’t watching it. But I made a point to keep my eyes trained on the screen like it was the most riveting thing I’d ever seen. Even while my hand crept higher up her thigh. Even while my thumb brushed just beneath the hem of her — my — shorts.
Even while she squirmed.
She made this little noise — almost a gasp, caught in her throat like she didn’t want me to hear it. But I did. I heard everything when it came to her.
“Something wrong?” I asked, all casual-like.
She glanced up at me with a look that could’ve peeled paint. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“No clue what you mean,” I murmured, letting my fingers stroke a lazy line down the inside of her thigh. Just a taste. Just enough to make her breath catch. “I’m watching the movie. You should too.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her whole body was rigid beside me, tense and expectant — like if she even twitched, she might break into flames.
I pretended not to notice the way she shifted, trying to chase my hand. I just gave her the faintest brush of knuckle over the seam of her shorts. Nothing more.
She whimpered. Whimpered.
I almost lost it.
“You’re evil,” she breathed.
“I’m patient,” I said. “There’s a difference.”
She reached down, grabbing for my wrist, trying to pull my hand where she wanted it. I let her move me. Let her think she was winning — before I redirected, dragging my fingers back up her stomach instead. Just light pressure. Teasing. The ghost of touch.
She slapped her hand over her face. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I smiled against her temple. “That’s the plan.”
Her shirt had ridden up the slightest bit. I ran my hand along the warm skin beneath it, brushing my knuckles against the bottom swell of her breast. She arched. Reacted. Her entire body tuned to me like a struck string.
I was high on it.
“Ansel,” she rasped. “Please.”
I looked down at her, voice low. “Say the words, June.”
She trembled. My hand slid higher. Fingers ghosting up her ribs, not quite cupping her breast. Almost. “Say it.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
I grinned. “Then we wait.”
And with that, I pulled away — not entirely, just enough to let her feel the loss. To leave her gasping and empty, thighs clenching around nothing.
The movie rolled on.
Juniper was vibrating. Practically levitating off the couch with tension.
I was proud of her for not lunging at me.
But I wasn’t about to let up.
Not yet.
She tried to scoot back in my lap, wriggle her hips just so — and yeah, okay, maybe she felt how badly I wanted her. But that didn’t mean I was going to give her what she wanted. Not yet. Not until I got to watch her break first.
I dipped my head, nosing along her neck.
“You smell like heaven,” I said, murmured low and distracted.
“That’s because I use shampoo. I shower. I don’t get arrested.”
“Oh, right.” My teeth grazed her pulse point — just the edge, just enough for her to feel it. “Guess I forgot, just assumed you were filthy like me. Like I’ve been dreaming you’d be.”
She groaned. “Let me show you how filthy I can be, Barlowe.”
I chuckled. “I would — but I’m really invested in this movie.”
My hand found its way back under her shirt — slow and careful — but this time I didn’t stop at teasing. No, this time I palmed her breast, let my thumb flick over her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. She made this broken little sound and immediately arched into it, so desperate, so ready.
Still watching the movie.
Still pretending I wasn’t doing anything at all.
“You always this sensitive, or is it just me?” I asked, voice rough now. Lower. “You gonna fall apart if I keep touching you like this?”
She nodded against me, mouth open like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out but a shuddering breath.
God, she was beautiful.
“We’ll see about that,” I whispered, tugging the cup of her bra down. My fingers found her nipple, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. She whimpered, jaw hanging slack as her eyes threatened to roll back.
I moved slower, more deliberate. Just enough pressure to leave her breathless. Then I stopped. Again.
Her eyes flew open. “Ansel—”
“I told you,” I murmured, brushing my nose against hers. “I want to savor this.”
She shoved my chest — weakly. More of a whimper than a protest. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”
“You’re alive,” I said. “Very alive.”
Her hands scrambled for purchase on my shirt again, like she couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or shove me off. Her legs were tangled around mine, her breath all over the place. She was wild under me, completely undone — and I hadn’t even taken off her shirt.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she breathed.
“I absolutely can.” I grinned. “And I will. Until you beg.”
“I am begging.”
“Not good enough.”
I kissed her once — quick, hard — then drew back just far enough to look her in the eyes. My hand still resting where she wanted me most. Still not moving.
“Want to try again?” I asked.
Her lip trembled. Her thighs squeezed around me. But she didn’t speak.
I smiled. “Guess we’re still waiting.”
She whimpered again.
God, that sound. That broken, bitten-off, frustrated sound — like she was seconds away from losing it entirely — did things to me I wasn’t proud of. Or maybe I was. Because this? This was exactly what I wanted.
Her hips tilted up, desperate for friction. My hand stilled. I didn’t move. Didn’t give her the satisfaction. Just stared her down while she squirmed in my lap.
"Ansel," she hissed.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
"Do something.”
“I am doing something.” I flicked my thumb across her nipple again, and she arched into me once more. “I’m making you feel good.”
“You’re making me insane.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?” I leaned in, mouth to her ear. “You’re soaked through my boxers and I haven’t even kissed you properly. That’s not on me, baby — that’s you. That’s how bad you want it.”
She made this choked, breathless little growl and tried to grind against me again — but I caught her hips, pinned her down.
“Ah-ah.” My voice was steady, cruel in its gentleness. “You don’t move unless I say.”
She went still beneath me. Trembling. Panting.
“Good girl.”
That broke her. I saw it. Felt it. The way her whole body responded to those two little words like they were oxygen and fire in the same breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lip caught between her teeth.
“You wanna come?” I whispered. “Wanna grind yourself stupid on my thigh like a needy little thing?”
She nodded.
“Too bad.”
A gasp.
I leaned back just enough to take her in — flushed, wrecked, lips still kiss-swollen and pupils blown wide.
Still not naked. Still untouched. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?
” I asked, running my fingers along her ribs, teasing the underside of her breast without ever going back to where she wanted me.
“You think I don’t see the way you beg for it?
Like I didn’t watch you fall apart the first time I said I wanted to wait? ”
“You’re a monster,” her words came out in a breathy moan.
I smiled — all teeth. “You like it.”
One hand braced at her waist, the other slid down, slow, until I reached the waistband of her shorts. I dipped just inside — just enough for her breath to catch — but didn’t go lower.
“You want more?”
She nodded furiously, helpless.
I bent close, nose brushing hers, and whispered, “Then I guess you’d better earn it.” I shifted underneath her, tilting my thigh just right — and there it was — the sharp little gasp that told me she was soaked through.
Ruined.
Her fingers clawed at my shirt, her hips rocking forward, chasing friction like she’d die without it.
But I didn’t give it to her.
I never gave it to her.
Not fully.
Instead, I let my hand ghost higher, sliding under her tank top, palm pressed flat to the bare skin of her stomach. She flexed beneath my touch — shivering, needy — and she made that noise again. That broken little whine that I was quickly becoming addicted to.
“Ansel, I’m not kidding,” she panted. “I’m going to combust—”