I don’t even give her a chance to finish the sentence. I don’t care about the explanation, the worry or fears she might be experiencing. All I can concentrate on is how she’s looking at me, how good she feels pressed next to me. I bend my head and kiss her, cutting off her words, thrusting my tongue in her mouth, triumph surging through me when she melts into me, her hands slipping beneath my T-shirt to touch my bare skin.

I’ve got her.

And I’m not about to let her go.

He’s kissing me. I’m in Shep’s bedroom—again—and he’s touching me, kissing me, seducing me. Again. And I’m letting it happen. I’m giving in gleefully, as if what he did to me only a few days ago doesn’t matter any longer.

It doesn’t. At least, not tonight. I’m taking my opportunities where I can find them and if he ends up hurting me, tossing me aside and forgetting all about me, then so be it. I like this guy. I want this guy.

For some wild and crazy reason, he seems to like and want me too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he runs his mouth along my jaw, down my neck. I like that he keeps apologizing too. Makes me think he really does regret how he treated me the night of the blowjob fail. Though is it really a fail when the guy comes in your mouth? I don’t think so. “I don’t know why I acted like such a prick that night.”

I say nothing. Just revel in his mouth on my skin, his wandering hands. Oh, I love it when he touches me like this. He just takes completely over, there’s no hesitancy, no awkwardness. My past sexual experiences were all about hesitancy and awkwardness. That part sucked. Most of it sucked. I always got performance anxiety and felt like I couldn’t measure up.

Oh, and orgasms? Forget it. I seriously don’t think I can come with a guy. On my own, yes, but otherwise? No can do.

With Shep, I tend to forget my hang-ups. All I can concentrate on is his lips on mine, his busy hands, his hard body…

“I want to make it up to you,” he continues, his fingers tugging on the hem of my shirt. Slowly he pulls it up, past my stomach, the fabric catching on my breasts before I lift my arms over my head and he tugs the tank completely off my body, letting it fall to the floor.

His gaze lands on my bra-covered chest and he stares blatantly at my breasts, his eyes lighting up like a little kid who just caught sight of the pile of presents beneath the tree on Christmas morning. I’m tempted to cross my arms in front of my chest but he’d only make me drop them so I don’t. I stand there, letting him look his fill, eager for him to say something, anything to move this moment along.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes glowing as they lift to meet mine. “Take off the shorts, Jade.”

Shock and arousal rushes through me at the tone of his voice, the command of his words. Here he goes being bossy again and without hesitation I do as he asks, shedding the shorts and kicking them off, so I’m standing in front of him wearing nothing but my black lace bra and the matching panties.

That I picked out and wore tonight just for him, in the hopes that he’d see me like this. Matching bra and panties is so not my style.

I’m bad. I planned for all of this. I wanted him to see me, to chase after me, to beg me for forgiveness. I wanted to give in and have him take me back to his place and strip off my clothes and…

“Lay back on the bed.” He swallows hard and works his jaw, his eyes never leaving me. He rests his hands on his hips, standing at the foot of the bed, foreboding and sexy and oh my God, I can’t believe this is really happening.

In fact, I’m starting to freak out just the slightest bit. Frowning, I ask, “Why?” Worry trickles inside of me and I tell myself to get over it.

But I can’t help it. Old habits die hard.

“Just do it,” he commands, his voice softening the slightest bit, as do his eyes. “Please.”

Is it wrong that I really love it when he says please? When he looks so tortured by my mere presence on his bed? Do I really have that much power over him? Because if I do?

That’s heady stuff.

Without a word, I do as he asks, lying back on his giant bed, scooting up the mattress so my back and head are leaning against the fat pile of pillows. They smell like Shep, spicy and clean. I close my eyes and turn my head, inhaling deeply, my nose practically buried in the pillowcase.

“Damn, you look pretty,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

I’m supposed to hate it when he calls me baby, but I don’t. I freaking love it. His gaze races over me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and I bend my knees, place my feet flat on the mattress before I slowly open my legs, sliding my feet across the bed.

His eyes flare with heat but he doesn’t speak. Feeling emboldened, I rest my hand on my stomach, my fingers perilously close to the waistband of my panties. I could just slide them beneath the black lace and sink them deep. I’m that wet, I can tell. All from him only watching me.

But it’s the way he watches me. He looks ready to pounce. Ready to take and conquer and make me his. That’s…exciting. My skin tingles in anticipation and then he’s there, climbing onto the bed with me, climbing over me, his face in mine, his arms braced on the mattress on either side of my head. I bring my legs closer together, his knees resting on each side of my hips and I release a shuddery breath when he presses his face to my neck, his mouth on my skin.

“Tonight is all about you,” he whispers close to my ear just before he kisses it. I close my eyes, my heart racing as he starts to slide down my body, his mouth never leaving my skin. He blazes a trail with his lips, across my collarbone, my chest, kissing along the tops of my breasts, over them, licking first one nipple, then the other, his tongue dragging over the lace of my bra. A shock of heat pulses through me, settling between my legs and I swear to God, all the oxygen leaves my lungs when he shifts lower, his mouth drifting across my stomach. I’m so sensitive I almost want to laugh, or at the very least squirm away from his mouth. I bite my lip to keep myself under control.

“You have freckles here,” he murmurs, his fingers coming into play. He touches my stomach, pressing his fingertips into my flesh as he oh so slowly kisses around my belly button. “You have freckles everywhere.”

He’s fascinated with them and I sort of don’t get why. All these years I’ve silently—and not so silently—cursed their existence and now I have the hottest guy on campus running his lips all over them.

His freaking lips. God, I’m weak just thinking about it, let alone actually feeling those magical lips on my skin, his fingers drawing little circles on my stomach, making goose bumps rise. I shiver when his mouth shifts lower, his tongue teasing along the waistband of my panties. His long fingers curl around the sides of my underwear at my hips, as if he’s going to pull them off and he goes completely still.

“What’s wrong?”

I open my eyes to find him watching me, his brows furrowed together, his big body nestled between my legs. I go weak just looking at him, assuming what he plans on doing, worried that he’s going to be sorely disappointed when he realizes that I just flat out…

Yeah. I can’t come. The ever-elusive orgasm will slip right out of my fingers like usual when I’m with a guy and disappear into the ether. Ridiculous, because I have Shep freaking Prescott between my legs, his mouth right there, like he’s about to go down on me or something—holy crap does he really plan on going down on me? My girly parts are lighting up like crazy at the possibility of that mouth going ahem, there—yet I’m freezing up. Silently freaking out.

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