Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

I push her back until she's pressed against the wall. I'm greedier now. My hands start roaming. They're on a journey of discovery. I want to touch it all. I want to feel every inch of her, inside and out.

I want to fuck her right now, right here, pressed against this wall with her heels on, listening to her screaming my goddamn name.

I reach down, pulling the hem of her shirt from where she tucked it into the shorts. She responds with a roll of her hips against me. My dick is aching. It's so fucking stiff and if she doesn't stop making those mewling sounds, I'm going to lose it right here with my jeans on and my cock nowhere near where I want it.

I inch my hand up her stomach. It's tight, the skin smooth and soft. I cup her breast. I can hear the need in her moan. It's there in me too. The ache to be inside her is almost more than I can take.

I pinch her nipple between my thumb and index finger. I have to have it in my mouth. I have to lick it. I need to bite it. I want to feel her squirm.

"Stand still," I say, pulling back. "I'm so fucking hard. So fucking hard, Falon."

Her eyes drop to my jeans. Her hands are quick to follow. I have to take a step back because I know that even a slight graze of her fingers across my jeans is going to be too much. There's no way I'm going to blow my load like this. No fucking way.

I let out a slow breath. "You can't touch me."

"Why?" she asks sharply. "What did I do?"

I laugh. "You kissed me. You touched my skin. You look like that."

She smiles. It's not that brilliant smile she gave me when she first saw me an hour ago. This smile is contained. She knows. She knows what she's doing to me.

"What do you want me to do?" she asks innocently, as if she's never brought another man to the brink of insanity with just the taste of her lips and the sounds she makes. Fuck those sounds. How am I ever going to get that out of my mind now?

I shift on my feet, hoping the movement will move my cock into another position. I'm hard as fuck right now. I should tell her I want her to drop to her knees and take it down her throat.

She fidgets in front of me. Her hand tugging at the bottom of her blouse which is doing nothing but exposing her bra with each flick of her wrist.

I glance to the side. I need to think. I need to fucking think about what I want. I don't want to do this if I'm using her as a shelter from my pain. If I fuck her here, right now, she's an extension of all the vile anger and disappointment I'm feeling. I'll associate her with that forever. I can't do that. I won't do that. For some reason I can't explain, I actually like this girl.

"I want you to go out with me tonight."

Her hands busy themselves tucking her shirt back in. She doesn't say anything. She just meticulously puts herself back together again.

"Falon." I reach for her hands, cupping them in mine. "Go on a date with me tonight."

She clears her throat before she jerks her hands away. "I can't tonight. I have plans."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"I can't." She tilts her head slightly to look past me. "I need to get ready for another shoot I have in an hour. You should take off."

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" I ask because I have no idea what to say. I fucked this up. She was primed and aching. Her body was practically begging to be taken and I asked her to dinner.

She hesitates and I wonder if she's about to tell me to go to hell but she doesn't. "I don't like games. I get that some girls like the whole playing hard to get bullshit, but I'm not one of them."

"I'm not doing that." I close my eyes for a few seconds, wanting my breathing to slow down.

"You are." Her tone is accusatory, her expression more so. Her hands jump to her hips. "What was all that? You kissed me like you wanted me."

This is a first. I've never once had a woman push me to explain when I've pulled back. It's only happened twice in the past. The first time the girl was drunk. I wasn't and when her lips slid over my cock and she almost fell over, I stopped it right there. She might not have regretted it in the morning, but I would have.

The other time was with someone I never want to think about again. We loved each other, we hated each other and the second time we were together, and I was above her, staring down at her face, I knew that if I entered her again, I'd lose too much of myself. I got up, dressed and walked out.

This isn't like that though. This is nothing like that.

"I want you."

"You stopped." She speaks quietly. "I thought we were on the same page."