Resist the Temptation

The cold tap water did nothing to quench the heat simmering beneath Hailey’s skin. Aaron stared into the sink, watching the droplets bead on the porcelain, but all he could see was the smug, possessive smirk on Ramsey’s face—his face. The image was seared into his mind, a constant, maddening loop. He’s in my house. In my room. Sleeping in my bed. A shiver, cold and furious, ran through Hailey’s spine.

Sleep was impossible. Every time he closed Hailey’s eyes, the phantom sensation of being violently ejected from his own body jolted him awake, his—her—heart hammering against her ribs. The soft cotton of Hailey’s pajamas felt like a prison, every brush of the fabric a tantalizing, guilty reminder of the form he now inhabited.

He padded silently out of the bedroom, drawn by a thirst that was more existential than physical. The hallway was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a nightlight. As he passed Cody’s door, left slightly ajar, he heard the deep, rhythmic breathing of a sound sleep. He paused, peering in. Cody was sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his head, completely at peace. He has no idea. No idea what it’s like to be stolen from yourself.

The sight fueled a fresh wave of **** anger. Aaron retreated back to Hailey’s room, clicking the lock shut with a soft, definitive snick. The sound echoed in the silent room. He was a prisoner in pastel pink, surrounded by posters of pop stars and the lingering scent of vanilla. He leaned back against the door, sliding down to the floor and pulling his knees—her knees—up to his chest. What am I going to do?

His gaze fell on the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. In the dim light, his reflection was a ghostly imitation of the girl he’d known his whole life. He pushed himself up and walked toward it, a moth drawn to a guilty flame.

He saw Hailey’s face, now etched with his own anxiety. But his eyes were drawn downward, past the worried brow, past the lips he’d never noticed were so full. His mind, traitorously, replayed the events of just hours before. The dizzying impact of entering her. The shocking softness of the towel as it fell. The look of raw, stunned hunger on Cody’s face. And then… the feel of Cody’s hand. The firm, possessive grip on the curve of her ass. The heat of it had been startling, a jolt of lightning that had reverberated deep into his—her—core.

A flush of warmth spread from his stomach outward, a low, persistent thrum beginning to pulse between his legs. It was a foreign sensation, entirely feminine and overwhelmingly powerful. He tried to fight it, to think of **** plans, of Ramsey, of anything else. But his body wasn’t listening. Her body wasn’t listening.

Every attempt to distract himself only led him back to the same image: Hailey, naked and confident in the mirror, his hands on her. No, my hands on me. The distinction blurred, melting under the heat of his arousal. The promise he’d made to Cody echoed, but it sounded distant, pathetic next to the roaring need building inside him.

“I'm sorry Cody!” he yelled into the quiet room, the words a mere breath. The apology wasn’t for what he was about to do, but for the sheer, undeniable pleasure he knew he was going to take from it.

His hands, which had been clenched into fists at his sides, uncurled. They were trembling. He reached for the hem of the soft sleep shirt, and in one fluid, **** motion, he pulled it up and over his head, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the matching shorts and panties, pushing them down his legs in a single, frantic motion. He stepped out of them, kicking them away.

There he was. There she was. Completely bare in the moonlight filtering through the window. Her skin glowed pale silver. His breath caught in his throat, a tight, choked sound. He brought his hands up, not yet touching, just hovering over the slopes of her breasts. His nipples were already hard, tight buds begging for contact.

He couldn’t fight it anymore. He didn’t want to.

His fingertips, feather-light, finally made contact. A sharp, gasping inhale hissed through Hailey’s teeth. The sensation was electric, a direct line of pure feeling that shot from the sensitive peaks straight down to the molten ache between his legs. He cupped her breasts fully, marveling at their perfect weight, at how his palms covered them so completely. His thumbs swept over the hardened nubs again and again, each pass sending another thrilling jolt through his system. A low, ragged moan escaped him—a sound he’d never made before, a sound of pure, unadulterated female pleasure.

One hand slid downward, over the quivering flat plane of her stomach, through the soft, downy hair. His heart was pounding, a wild drumbeat in his ears. He was lightheaded, drunk on sensation. His fingers descended lower, parting folds that were already slick with a wetness that was both shocking and deeply satisfying.

He found the center of the throbbing ache, a swollen, hypersensitive nub. The moment his middle finger made contact, his knees nearly buckled. A full-body shudder wracked him. Oh god. He pressed against it, a slow, circular motion that made him see stars. His other hand pinched and rolled a nipple, the dual sensations threatening to short-circuit his brain. This was better than anything he could have ever imagined. This was a universe of feeling he never knew existed.

He watched himself in the mirror—Hailey’s face was flushed, her lips parted, her eyes heavy-lidded with a pleasure she was wholly unaware of, a pleasure that was entirely his to command. He was panting now, his hips beginning to make tiny, involuntary circles against his own hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of this incredible, mind-shattering feeling. He was so close. He could feel the tension coiling tightly, unbearably, in the very depths of her—his—body. His fingers moved faster.