Page 102 of Misguided
“You have a point. Still …”
“Still.”
“I like this side of you better.”
He smirks, reaching out and twirling a length of my hair around his finger, using it to pull me closer—close enough that our lips brush with his next words. “I wasn’t aware you liked the other me at all.”
“I don’t.”
He hums, low in the back of his throat, and fuck me if that isn’t the sexiest sound a man can make. “Good thing I’m choosin’ to be this version of myself tonight then, huh?”
“Why?” I whisper against his mouth.
“Otherwise you wouldn’t let me do this.” He barely moves an inch, but it’s all he needs to pinch my bottom lip between his and gently tug.
The crackle of the fire breaks the silence between us as he stares into my eyes, silently asking. The heat between Dog and me accentuates the cold night air at my back as I lean down and answer him by returning the gesture. He groans as I take his lip between mine, and run my tongue along the plump flesh before letting it go.
“Are we doin’ this?” he whispers, eyes closed as he battles what goes on behind them.
“I think so.” I shuffle my body over his, rearranging the blanket so it still covers us both.
He sighs as I settle my weight over him, his wide hands moving to rest on my hips. “King said he’d kill me if I touched you.”
“You already have.” I chuckle at his lame excuse, sliding my legs on either side of his. “Besides, since when have you listened to what you’re told?”
“Since it made sense to.” He frowns, eyes still closed as I push both hands down on his chest to sit myself up.
The air is cold between us, the space seeming larger because of it, and yet this is the perfect view. His shoulders are strong, the width of his chest accentuated by the narrow waist between my legs as I eye-fuck the hell out of him. He tips his head back and groans in protest, the cut of his square jaw lickable from such an angle.
“Girl, you’re gonna get me killed.”
“By who?” I sass. “Big brother’s gone home. It’s none of any of their business. Who’s gonna care?”
“Me.” Dog’s eyes finally open, and what I see rips the courage straight from my heart.
He’s telling me the truth; he wants me to stop.
I hold his stare, hoping for a flicker of change as I flare my nostrils and push down the rejection that stings like a hot knife. Yet, he stays steadfast, cold and calculated as his hands slip away from my hips and fall to the tent floor.
He’s pleasured me twice now, and yet he doesn’t want me enough to go the whole way.
I’ve ever felt more stupid in my fucking life.
Not only have I been rejected by the first man who connected with me outside of my status in the club, but also by the known man whore of the Lincoln chapter.
How’s that for harsh?
“I’m sorry I misread things,” I mutter as I shuffle off him and to the farthest side of my bedroll. “I thought that was what you wanted. My mistake.”
“Mel …”
His sweatshirt feels unwelcome against my skin, as warm as it is, so I pull the fabric from my body and throw it aside not giving a fuck that I sit in nothing but my bra. What does it matter when he’s clearly not interested anymore, anyway?
“Put it back on.”
“No.”
He startles me as he jerks upright and reaches to his feet to grab the offending article of clothing. Dog thrusts it at me, the soft fabric slapping me in the chest as he comes short of punching it right into me.