Page 66 of Unbroken Rules (Rules 3)

But he’s the one keeping it alive.

“Only if I can begin.” I’m surprised by my own guts.

He’s a bit surprised himself. “Okay. Then start.”

Oh, Hazie, you won’t have to ask me twice.

Nodding, I get myself off the couch and stand tall in front of him. He’s still seated, the perfect picture of nonchalance and cockiness. I bend forward, dropping the phone next to him and starting the timer. I never take my eyes off him. Not when I tug my shirt over my head, not when I pull on the waistband of my leggings, slide them off and kick them to the side. I strip without a care in the world, and his mouth full-on drops.

Not so cocky anymore, are we?

He stares me up and down, his eyes flashing with a carnal need that melts my insides. I’m still wearing my underwear, for now, and drop to my knees in front of him. Eager, I seek him through his jeans, running my palm up and down the fabric. The friction instantly makes him grow, but his pants block his size. I don’t waste another second, unbuckle his belt, and get his pants off. I drop them on the couch next to him. I can’t help a grin at the now massive bulge tempting me. Still, the rest of his clothes stand in my way.

“Lose the shirt.”

Disbelief flickers in his gaze.

He looks like he’s thinking, You’re joking, right?

“Underwear, too.”

The seriousness of my request finally dawns on him.

“Fuck, Winter. You can’t ask me that,” he pleads.

I arch an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Did you just say no?”

Annoyed, he gives in, tugging his shirt over his head. His underwear is next. Sliding his boxers down to his knees, he frees himself. My stomach flips with desire. He’s beyond ready—ready and desperate. He sucks in a breath, tight fists lying alongside his body, when I lower my mouth to his…

“Winter, don’t you dar—”

Oops. Too late.

I grab him at the base and suck. Hard. He immediately presses his mouth shut, agony and pleasure mixing on his face. His head falls back. Still he doesn’t budge, keeping his hands to himself and his eyes on the ceiling. It’s as though he knows that looking at me would stand for immediate defeat.

“Look at me,” I tell him.

His eyes widen and he jerks with spasms. He’s not used to this. He’s usually the one luring me over to the dark side. Like it requires every inch of self-control in his body, he does what he’s told, meeting my eyes.

He watches as I take him deeper and lets out a strangled threat. “Holy sh… I’m going to make you regret th

at.”

I peek at the timer from the corner of my eye. What? I’m down to two minutes already? This isn’t working. I need a new tactic.

Releasing him, I push to my feet and toward the couch. I straddle his now completely naked body and let my hands explore his defined torso, rocking my hips against his. He’s thick and hard under me. An unplanned moan slips free from my mouth, and he exhales an irritated grunt. I may be playing him, but the sensation of him sliding up and down my slit against the thin fabric of my underwear is still very real.

I shamelessly use him, angling my hips forward until he hits exactly the right spots. I’m tempted to destroy the last barrier behind us and take my underwear off, to really feel him, but I’m enjoying the tortured look on his face way too much. I snake one arm behind his neck and the other in his hair. My breasts comes flush with his chest and, for a second there, as I grind against him, I almost forget about the sick origins of this moment. I don’t even care that he’s not touching me. I could get off just doing this.

“Haze.” His name falls out without my consent.

“Fuck, baby.” He clenches his teeth.

The memory of why I’m doing this hits me almost as hard as the overwhelming buildup in my stomach. Eyes on the prize, Winter. I lean in and my mouth hits his ear. “I’d love to. But you’re not giving in.”

Finally, he touches me. Scratch that, he starts to. He lifts his arm and I shiver, every nerve ending in my body anticipating his touch the way a drug addict awaits his fix.

But my fix never comes. Because he stops. Why did he stop?