Her fingers fist in my hair, dragging me closer. My body automatically responds, my hands finding her waist as she presses herself against me. One of her hands slides down my stomach and before I know it, her palm is pressed to my towel-strained length.
She groans into the kiss when she feels how hard I am.
Fuck.
Every part of me wants this—wantsher—but not like this.
With more willpower than I knew I possessed, I tear my mouth from hers and catch her wrists, pushing her back an inch.
“Are you okay, Honeycomb?” My voice is rough and unsteady. “You’re acting a little different tonight.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” I walk over to the kitchen, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twist the cap, and then head back to my girlfriend, pressing it into her hand. “Drink this.”
She obeys, her eyes flicking to mine while she gulps half of it down. Then she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and gives me a lopsided smile.
“Bossy.”
“Drunk,” I mutter, steering her toward the stairs. She stumbles on the first step, and I catch her, one hand on her hip, the other bracing her under her arm. “You, okay?”
She nods. “Mhm.”
But she’s not. Not even close.
When we make it to the top of the stairs, I push open my door and guide her to the bed, helping her sit on the mattress.
“Do you want a shirt?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her eyes dark. “No. I just want you.”
I bite back a curse, turn to the dresser, and grab a shirt anyway. Then I toss it toward her as I drop the towel and pull on a pair of boxers.
When I face her again, she’s curled on top of the covers, her knees drawn in.
I kneel beside her, brushing my fingers through her hair to get her attention.
“Slide over, Honeycomb,” I murmur, pulling back the blankets.
She shifts, her hips lifting just enough for me to slip in beside her. I reach to tuck the sheets around her, but the second I’m close, she’s on me.
Her mouth crashes against mine and she pushes me back onto the mattress.
Rough and demanding.
I’ve never seen this side of Honey before and I’m not sure what to think about it.
“Honey,” I breathe against her lips, trying to keep my head while she grinds against my cock. “Slow down.”
She shakes her head as her mouth drags along my throat. “Don’t want to.”
“You don’t usually—” I groan when her hips roll again. “—come over here drunk and try to climb me like a tree.”
“Maybe I should,” she mutters, soft but sharp. “Maybe I should just move in with you, then you won’t forget about me, and I won’t forget who I am.”
Forget about her?
What the fuck is she talking about?