“Only if you make me hate you first.”
Tyler stilled when the words came from his lips, and I tilted my head, confused.
But before I could ask him what he meant, he grabbed my chin and crashed his mouth to mine.
That kiss… that connection of lips, of heat and want, of regret and longing, of a past life and a present one — it hit me like an anvil to the chest.
My next breath was stolen, and I’d barely registered that Tyler was kissing me before his tongue skated against my lips, seeking access, and I opened, letting him in like there was no other option.
There never had been.
It had always been him. It had always been us. And that kiss — that passionate, painful, bruising kiss told me that he knew it, too.
Is this a dream again? Am I about to wake up?
My question was answered with Tyler’s grip around my waist tightening, and I whimpered as he bit down on my bottom lip, sucking it inside his mouth before he was kissing me again. I was still completely breathless, shocked and scared and knowing we should stop but so damn turned on that I knew I never would.
I should have shoved him back. I should have slapped him. I should have turned around and run and never looked back.
But I held onto him like he was all I needed, all that mattered, and we spiraled together into the darkness we’d created.
Our own little personal hell.
Every moment after that was a flash, a blur, defying physics and gravity and every law of science there was. Time jumped and skipped, and I registered our movement in tiny specs.
Hands everywhere, lips hot and wet as we climbed the stairs.
A shock of pain up my back when he slammed me into the door that led into the house, and a cool rush of air when we tumbled inside it.
A zing of warning down my spine when he grabbed my hand and tugged me up, stopping every few seconds to capture my mouth with his again, as if he worried that even one full minute without contact would be enough for me to wise up and change my mind and stop all of this.
But I never could.
I blacked out for the rest of the ascent, up the three stories, both of us trying to silence our breaths as we climbed each floor. Deftly, I registered Tyler gripping the doorknob that led into my room, and he shoved it open, tossing me inside before he shut it behind us with a quiet snick.
When we were alone, he stood across from me, chest heaving, eyes devouring me like he was a wolf and I was his prey.
He took one step, and I took the next, until we collided in the middle of the room in a mixture of shallow breaths and hot, needy hands. His wrapped around my hips and lifted, and then I was on the dresser, and when I spread my thighs to make room for him between them, the vase of flowers Jacob had bought me crashed to the floor.
It was my final warning, I’d realize in the coming days, and I should have heeded it.
But nothing could make me stop now.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tyler husked, his hands raking up my thighs and spreading them more as he settled between them. He was already thick and throbbing in his sweatpants, his erection pressed right where I needed friction the most.
I gasped, arching into him as his teeth grazed the skin of my neck. He bit down hard enough that I knew it’d leave a mark before sucking that same spot tenderly.
“Do you know how badly I want you, Jasmine?” His words were but a low growl as his hands explored — up my legs, gripping the crease where my hips met my thighs, squeezing my waist so hard I hissed in a breath. “From the day you showed up in those tight, white jeans, that little blue crop top that showed your hips.” He traced the hips he was cursing, making chills race from that point of contact. “And then seeing you in your pajama shorts, and that hot little fucking bikini that day at the lake.” Tyler groaned, his mouth claiming mine so quickly and unexpected that I tasted copper on my tongue. “I want you so fucking bad it hurts.”
He thrust his hips into me with the words, as if saying them wasn’t enough to make me truly feel them. Little did he know that every word he spoke was a drug to my system, fogging my morals, filling me up with the purest ecstasy I’d ever known.
My tank top was ripped over my head before I realized he’d even broken our kiss, and then his mouth was back on mine, tongue seeking entrance as he palmed my breasts hard through my sports bra. He made quick work of it next, and then that hot mouth was on my nipple, sucking and groaning in appreciation with his hands still squeezing me hard.
Words and breath were impossible to reach in that moment. I couldn’t do a single damn thing but lean into his touch, into his torturous, almost hateful seduction.
The first time Tyler touched me, all those years ago, it was with gentle reverence. He’d handled me like a girl with a broken heart, which was exactly what I was. His kisses had been slow and soft, his hands hesitant and trembling, and I could still remember the look in his eyes when he laid me back and entered me for the first time.
They were wide, careful, sensitive, longing and pure.
But Tyler didn’t take me gently tonight.
Tonight, he punished me with every kiss, with every bite, with every tight grasp. It must have been true, what he’d said on the beach — he wanted to hate me, too. And I felt it with every new touch, every new kiss, every new taste.
He wasn’t worshiping me.
He was claiming me.
Like I’d ever had a prayer of being anyone else’s but his.
My hands clawed at his shirt, bunching the fabric at his shoulders before he released his mouth from my breast long enough for me to rip the cotton over his head. As soon as it was gone, he continued his torture, and I raked my nails down his back, marking him just as he was marking me.
“Shiiiiit, Jaz,” he cursed, his entire body trembling, and then his mouth crashed into mine again.
He kissed me hard as his fingers dove beneath the band of my running shorts. He yanked violently, and I barely had to work to lift my hips for him to get them off of me and on the floor. They were the kind with built in underwear, which meant once they were on the ground, I was completely naked.
And for the first time since he kissed me, Tyler stopped.
He took a few steps back, far enough that I couldn’t reach him, and his eyes crawled over my exposed skin.
The only light in the room came from my curtains still being open, and it was the soft light of the night, barely enough for me to see his eyes, but certainly enough for him to catalogue every inch of me. I closed my knees, arms crossing over my stomach before Tyler shook his head.
“No,” he commanded. “Don’t get shy on me now, Jazzy. I want to see you. Open those legs for me.”
Fuck.
My entire being came alive at his words, and it wasn’t even an option to do anything other than what he’d demanded. My knees fell open again, and I spread my thighs wide, feeling the cool wood of the dresser under my ass. I was already so wet and swollen that just the combination of him watching me and the cool touch of the air conditioning on that sensitive center had me ready to come.
Tyler was just a silhouette with the windows behind him, his hair sticking up this way and that, chest swelling with each new breath. I palmed my breasts as my eyes traced each valley and ridge of his abdomen, my nipples pebbling under the touch, and I moaned at the sight of him stripping off his shorts and freeing his erection.
It sprang forward, thick and long, and when he wrapped one fist around it with his eyes still watching me, I panted, my hand sliding down to rub my aching clit.