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It’s wrong, even though she tugs at me on so many levels. Desire trickles through me and lands low in my abdomen and my dick gives a twitch she surely feels.

The moment goes tense. Desire makes it impossible to feel any sort of shame or embarrassment. I open my mouth to beg her—for what? The tips of my fingers skim down to her lips and there is no denying the desperate need.

What I’d like to do with my hands…

I clamp down on my jaw, dropping one hand from her face to her hips.

Gilli is breathing hard. Her tongue darts out to lick her lower lip but she isn’t pulling away. She isn’t telling me to stop or following through on her kick to my rapidly hardening cock.

“Soren?”

I squeeze her hips, slowly tugging her closer yet before drawing my hand up the side of her torso. Brushing a risky caress against the underside of her breast until she gasps.

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs.

She doesn’t look like she wants this to stop. Gilli tilts up her chin, her mouth slightly open. My skin tightens and I steal another forbidden touch, only now it’s my knuckles against her hard nipples. One, the other.

The weight of her breast against the top of my hand is sinfully good. She shivers against me and my cock hardens in my pants.

What am I doing?

I continue to rub her breasts, growing bolder with the movement. Suddenly it’s my thumbs brushing those pebbled nipples and Gilli whimpers. I slide my other hand up to her hair and grab those silky strands, crushing them.

The sparkle in her eyes makes my stomach twist.

“Do something about it, Gilli. Do something.” But what?

With a groan, I drop my head to the side of her neck and bury my face against her skin. Too bold, I warn myself, biting the crook where her neck meets her shoulders.

Her pulse thumps against my lips.

How easy it would be to open my palm and cup her breast entirely. To squeeze and fondle and take what I want from her. Her chest against mine, her smell on me, and our skin touching until the warmth spreads through every inch of me.

“I-I can’t,” she whispers.

I want her. I want this.

Until remembering exactly who she is—what she represents—brings me back to my senses.

“Fuck,” I blurt out. I push back to put distance between.

Her cheeks sport a fiery blush and she drops her eyes down to her feet.

Oh god, what am I doing? Why is it so difficult for me to control myself aroundher?

My dick aches and throbs as I turn tail and head back to the cabin, as far away from her as possible.

I’ve hated her for years. Hated her mother, hated the whole fucked-up situation. It’s never been in my control, and it’s easier, and more gratifying, to use hatred as a shield. Yet I want her.

I want her as a woman, as a person. Her spark, her spirit, her stubbornness, and her body.

I’m in a bad way. A bad fucking way.

For some reason, I’ve gone from confident to second guessing every step I make. Following her out into the woods today had been a mistake. Bullying her within these four walls was a mistake.

Hating her has made me want her more. I want to feel everything with her. I want to make her scream my name until it echoes across the lake like a ripple.

I’m fucked in the worst kind of way.