Imperfect Bastard by Pamela Ann Page A

pictured in my head. That one night I had spent with him … He had kissed me everywhere, but never did he dare kiss me like he had with the women I had seen him with. Even that woman he had screwed in his bedroom, he had kissed her like no one’s business while he fucked her until the bed shook to the point of almost collapsing.
    “What is it?” he murmured, squeezing my foot.
    Why didn’t you ever kiss me like that? I wanted to demand answers, but something made me bite my tongue. It was partly because I feared his response would hurt me.
    “I’m curious about something …” I began, seeing him raise his brow and cock his head toward me. “You know … about last night. Why did you do that?”
    If he says he felt sorry for me, I’m seriously going to kick him in the balls.
    He considered me with those penetrating eyes, locking them with mine, delving into my depths. “There’s something about the way you moan my name … I can’t resist it,” he said, unblinking, holding me prisoner. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you again.”
    Well, that was beyond unexpected.
    “Oh.” My mind went blank.
    “I’m sure you’ve been told a lot, but I’m saying it again … Your body’s made to make a man lose his mind.”
    Did he just …? Oh, God.
    My cheeks reddened while I felt goose bumps travel all over my body, and my heart palpitated from his words. If a man stated such notions, there had to be something there. When it came to sex and relationships, I would happily settle for the first option, testing the waters before leaping to the next step.
    I was stuck in one of those now or never moments, and I knew I needed to get a move on if I planned on anything transpiring at all.
    “Do you … um … plan to do something about it. I mean, after last night … and what you just said?”
    He let out a heavy sigh. “Your brother will kill me if he found out I took something that wasn’t supposed to be mine.”
    “I gave it to you.” He hadn’t stolen anything; he should know better than to label it as such. “I wanted you so much. I still do.” It was a moment of honesty, my guards down as I proudly let out what I had suppressed for so long.
    “Chloe … I can’t,” he said with conviction, immediately drowning my hopes. “Not that I don’t want to, because I do. All I can think of right now is parting those legs and losing myself in you. It’s fucked up since you’re in pain, but that’s what’s been on my mind, but I can’t. I can’t betray Jackson and your family like that.”
    Neither Jackson nor my family should hinder what was between us. Trying to broach that argument seemed like a moot point, though.
    “This isn’t about them. It’s about me and you, and no one else.”
    “I can’t lose any of you.” He raked a hand through his hair, conflicted. “This attraction will eventually pass, Chlo. Besides, I’m not the relationship type. You know that. You shouldn’t want me. I’d probably end up cheating on you or something, and I would never forgive myself if I ever hurt you like that.”
    His fears were understandable, although how could he know if he was capable of being faithful or not if he wasn’t even willing to test it? One thing I knew was that no one could force a man to do something he vehemently didn’t want to be a part of.
    Instead of dwelling upon what might have been, I was grateful he had given me a direct response.
    “I understand your decision.” The tiny flicker of hope that had surfaced moments ago would never blossom into anything solid and beautiful.
    Unceremoniously, he took hold of my hands, clasping them with his own before bringing them to his lips, giving a kiss on each then gazing up at me with a solemn expression. “Sorry, I really am.”
    “I’m sorry, too, that I brought it up. It’s okay. If you’re worried about me after I admitted that I still want you after all this time, you shouldn’t. I’m young and living in New York, right?