"I -" I started to say. Then, I steeled myself. "No."
I started to step back, but Cade placed his hand on my arm, stopping me. I could hear the rain coming down around us, could feel the tiny droplets as they splashed up and bounced against the rocks.
He slid his hands around my waist, his hand tight against the small of my back, holding me firmly in place. Then, his eyes still on mine, he pulled me against him, roughly, and I could feel his hardness pressed into me.
"Say it, June." He moved his head millimeters away from my ear, his lips nearly touching my skin. Then I felt his lips brush against my skin, on the place, that sensitive place, the place just below my ear lobe. A trail of goose bumps ran up my arm, and I shuddered.
"Say what?"
"Tell me what you want," he said. "Tell me who you want. Beg me."
Cade dragged his finger down the side of my neck to my collarbone, his touch lighter than a feather. Then, his movements achingly slow, he traced his lips along the length where his finger had been. As he moved his lips along my skin, I could feel his tongue just barely touch me, and heat radiated from my core.
I didn't want him, right? This criminal, the new Cade, this wasn't what I wanted. Somehow I couldn't telegraph that message to my body.
"No," I said. But even as I said it, it rang hollow to my ears.
"No?" He traced his finger over the curves of my breasts, then down the valley between them. I felt the cool air between my teeth as I inhaled sharply at his touch. My nipples hardened against the fabric of my bra. His eyes still on mine, he cupped my breast, his palm over the fabric of my shirt, and I arched my back, pressing my breasts against his palm. "Still no?"
I murmured something; I'm not sure what exactly.
But it sure as hell wasn't "no" this time.
It wasn't "fuck, yeah," either. I wouldn't give Cade the satisfaction of hearing me beg for him.
So I stood there, still, my eyes trained on his. He moved his hand lower, slid it down my side to my waist, looking at me. Watching me for a reaction. He raised an eyebrow, as if daring me, urging me to say something.
"You definitely don't want me, right?" he asked, as he slipped his hand underneath my tee-shirt, sliding his palm under my bra and touching my breast. The heat from his hand, rough and calloused against my skin, covered the surface of my skin and I nearly groaned out loud. The only thing that kept me from moaning and begging him to fuck me right now was my pride.
"No," I gasped, biting my lower lip to keep from moaning as he swirled his thumb around my nipple.
"Should I stop?" he whispered, his lips near my ear again, the heat from his breath sending a tingle radiating through my body.
"No." I admitted it before I could stop myself. I couldn't help myself, not where Cade was concerned.
With his other hand, he unbuttoned my jeans, tugged my pants down around my thighs, and slid his hand down my pants, between my legs.
Then there was no denying I wanted him now.
When he realized how wet I was, he groaned. Or growled, rather. "June," he said, his finger making circles over my clit, sending rippling waves of pleasure over me that nearly brought me to my knees, “You’re going to have to say it.”
I ignored him, my mind too preoccupied with what his hand was doing, what his fingers were doing between my legs. I just couldn't seem to think straight, not where Cade was concerned. Cade had me seeing double. Hell, he had me seeing more than that. His touch was taking me back to being sixteen again, back when I was drunk on him.
Then he pushed apart my legs with his hand, and slipped his finger inside me.
“Say what?” I practically panted it, an animal in heat. My body burned for him.
“Say what you want,” Cade said. “Say what we both know you want.”
My lips parted, and his eyes focused on them, waiting. His hand was still and I felt myself tighten around him.
Move, damn it.
I willed him to move his hand, just a little bit. I was already on the threshold. “Fuck me.”
There. I said it.
He didn’t move. And then a little smile, just the beginning of one, formed on his lips. “I didn’t hear you,” he said.
The asshole.
“Fuck. Me.” I said it again. I could feel my pussy throbbing around his fingers, waiting. Why wasn’t he already inside me? Why hadn’t he already ripped my jeans off me, thrust himself inside me?
“You didn’t say ‘please,’” he said, leaning close to me, his breath hot on my ear. He pushed his fingers deeper inside me, and I nearly cried from frustration. “You didn’t beg.”
I opened my mouth, fully intending to say “fuck you.” But, to my horror, I heard myself say, “Please.”
I heard this sound come from his throat, this deep growl, and he covered my mouth with his, an animal devouring his prey. I pressed my body against him, desperate, wanting to be rid of my clothes. He yanked my shirt up over my head, threw it somewhere, and I fumbled, grasping at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up.
And saw the scars, the rippled flesh where he had been burned. I paused, running my hands over his skin, my fingers registering the each little ridge and valley.