Chapter 10
Juniper
His words hang heavy in the dark dragging heat straight to the place that’s still aching for him. My throat goes dry, my lips parting before I can stop them.
I should pull the towel tighter, roll from the bed, and lock the door between us. But instead, I stay. I breathe him in—whiskey, smoke, and something purely Rhett—and the fight seeps right out of me.
My voice is barely a whisper.
“Then don’t make me wait for it.”
His breath ghosts hot against my throat, his grip tightening just enough to make me shiver.
For a long, dangerous moment, I think he’s going to take me up on my offer.
That he’ll roll me beneath him, strip the towel from my body, and prove the promise in his words right here, right now.
My pulse kicks hard, anticipation pooling heavy and sweet between my thighs.
Instead, his lips barely brush my temple, a scrape of stubble rough against sensitive skin. His voice follows, low and gravelly, the sound of it dragging over my nerves like dark velvet.
“You still need to trust me first.”
The words sink like a hook, sharp and inescapable.
They lodge deep before I can even breathe and untangle what they mean.
I want to demand clarity and ask how he expects me to trust him when everything about him is danger wrapped in temptation.
But before I can, his body slackens. The tension drains from him, his hand going heavy where it rests at my hip, and he’s pulled under by sleep.
I stay awake. Wide awake. The weight of his arm anchors me, his chest pressed to my back like a barrier I can’t cross.
His breath evens out, warm against my damp skin, and I lie there stiff, fighting the hammer of my pulse.
The memory of the shower still clings to me—the scald of the water, the rasp of his voice in my head, the sound of his name breaking from my lips.
The towel wrapped around me is damp and heavy, but I don’t dare move.
Not when every inch of me hums with his nearness.
Not when my body betrays me, leaning into the heat bleeding from his.
The minutes crawl, every tick of the clock stretched tight with his presence. My lashes grow heavy, but my mind won’t stop racing. Trust him. The words echo like a curse, like a dare, until exhaustion finally drags me under.
When I wake, the room is softer, painted with faint gold spilling through the curtains.
The air smells of leather, smoke, and him.
The towel slipped away sometime in the night, abandoned in a crumpled heap on the floor.
And me? I’m tangled around him like I belong there, my thigh hooked over his hip, my arm draped across his chest.
The realization hits like a blow, but before I can recoil, his hand moves low on my spine, holding me exactly where he wants me.
He’s awake. Watching me.
His eyes are darker than the morning should allow, fixed on me with a steadiness that roots me in place. There’s no teasing smirk, no mask of indifference. My lips part, searching for words, excuses, anything. But nothing comes. Because in his arms, under his gaze, I already know the truth.
I never wanted safe. I wanted him.
My lips part, searching for words, but before I can speak, he shifts. The arm around my waist tightens, pulling me flush against him, and his thigh slides higher between mine. The movement is unhurried, his strength impossible to fight against.
The pressure is sudden and devastating—hard muscle pressing right where the ache from last night still lingers. A moan tears from my throat before I can bite it back, soft and broken against his chest.
His gaze sharpens, satisfaction flickering in the darkness of his eyes. He leans in, his mouth so close to my ear I can feel the curl of his breath.
“There it is,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “The sound you tried to smother last night.”
Heat floods me, shame and need warring until my body trembles.
My hips shift against him without permission, seeking more and betraying every defense I thought I had.
Rhett doesn’t move away. He doesn’t ease the pressure.
If anything, he presses harder, his thigh anchoring me in place, his hand splaying wide over my spine to keep me from retreating.
“You think you can hide from me?” His tone is quiet, but it drips with certainty. “Even your body knows better.”
Another moan spills free, softer this time, and I hate how much it sounds like surrender.
Fuck it.
I shift, slow at first, testing the friction and testing him. His thigh is solid, hard muscle wrapped in worn denim, and the pressure against the ache between my legs makes my breath catch. A groan slides from my lips before I can swallow it down.
Rhett doesn’t stop me. Hell, he doesn’t even move. He only watches, his hand firm at my back, keeping me close as if daring me to take what I want.
So I do.
My hips grind forward, slow and needy, then harder when the pleasure spikes sharp and sweet through me.
Heat builds with every rock of my body, every drag of damp skin against rough fabric.
I clutch at his chest, fingers digging into muscle, searching for something to anchor me as I ride the steady flex of his leg.
The sound that leaves me is ragged, desperate—half curse, half plea. He doesn’t touch me where I need him most, doesn’t guide me, but his stillness is worse, because it means this is mine. My choice. My surrender.
I can’t stop. Won’t stop. The pleasure coils sharp and demanding, stealing the air from my lungs as heat spills through every nerve. A broken sound slips out of me as I grind down harder, desperate for release.
Rhett’s hand cups the back of my neck, steadying me, his eyes locked on mine, dark and merciless.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Take what you need.”
I do. I let go of shame, let my body chase the breaking point. My thighs clench tighter, hips jerking faster, breath catching as the wave crests—
And then he moves.
In one fluid shift, his leg slips from between mine, leaving me grinding against empty air. The sudden loss rips a strangled cry from my throat. My body trembles with the stolen climax, the ache left raw and unsatisfied.
Before I can curse him, shove him, beg him—his hand fists in my hair, dragging my face close until his lips brush my ear. His voice is a growl.
“No. Not like this.”
I gasp, trembling, my body screaming with frustration, with need. He eases back against the pillows, leaving me strung out and shaking, his gaze steady and unyielding as if he hasn’t just wrecked me on purpose.
I’m left clinging to him, thighs slick, pulse frantic, the ache inside me sharper than ever. I clutch at his shirt, my voice breaking against his chest.
“Please, Rhett… just—please.”
His hand strokes low over my spine, patient in a way that makes me want to scream. He tilts his head, his mouth brushing my ear.
“Please what?”
The words claw their way out of me, ragged and shameless. “Go down on me. I need your mouth.”
For a heartbeat there’s silence. Then his grip tightens at my hip, and he shifts, rolling me onto my back. My breath stutters, heat rushing through me as his body looms over mine, eyes dark and hungry.
“You want my mouth on you?” His voice is a growl, rough with promise. “Want to know how you taste on my tongue?”
I nod, already shaking. “Yes. God, yes.”
He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t drag it out. One moment he’s staring down at me, the next he’s sliding lower, his hands forcing my thighs apart. His breath ghosts over my bare skin and I jolt, desperate, already aching for more.
Then—his mouth. Hot, wet, claiming me with a slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue. My back arches, a strangled moan spilling out as pleasure detonates sharp and sudden. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there, needing more, needing everything.
But Rhett doesn’t give it.
He pulls back just as quickly, lips wet, eyes blazing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I whimper, broken, the loss more brutal than the taste was sweet.
“Not yet,” he rasps, his voice roughened from want. He leans up, his mouth hovering just above mine. “That was just a promise. The next time I make you come…” His thumb drags across my lower lip, smearing me with his taste. “…it’ll be on my cock. Nothing else.”
My body hums, desperate, raw, and when he leans over me, I can’t stop myself.
I grab his shirt, drag his mouth to mine. The kiss is frantic, messy, my lips parting on a whimper as I try to pour all the hunger, all the ache, into him.
“Please, Rhett,” I gasp against his mouth. “I need you. I need it now—”
His tongue teases mine, a groan rumbling deep in his chest, and for a moment I think he’ll give in. My hips shift up, searching for him, my whole body begging where words can’t.
But then he pulls back, breaking the kiss with a sharp tug of his hand in my hair, forcing me to look at him. His gaze is dark, merciless, the heat there only fanning the flames of my need.
“No.” The word is final, carved from stone. His thumb drags across my swollen bottom lip, lingering there as his eyes lock on mine. “You don’t get to beg your way into this.”
Tears sting, half frustration, half humiliation. “Rhett—”
He shakes his head slowly, a dangerous smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ll give you everything. But not like this. Not when you’re just chasing relief.” He leans closer, his voice a low growl at my ear. “When you finally come for me, it’ll be because I let you. And you’ll know it’s mine.”
The ache inside me twists tighter, unbearable, and I collapse back against the mattress, trembling. His hand strokes down my side once, soothing, before he settles me firmly against his chest like I’m not still burning alive for him.
Denied. Again.
And somehow, that makes me want him even more.