He wanted to feel her yield to him, to lose himself in her heat. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body. To memorize the texture of her skin and explore every crevice, every curve.
Hell, he wanted her at his mercy, and the knowledge that she wanted him too both humbled and amazed him.
"Jenna," he murmured, because he had to feel her name on his lips. Then he thrust his fingers into her hair and held her head steady so he could claim her mouth once more.
He used his other hand to explore her body, relishing the small sounds of arousal as he cupped her ass through her skirt. He wanted to pull the material up and slide his hand between her legs, then explore her slick, wet folds.
His cock twitched at the thought, but he forced his hand the other direction. Soon enough he'd lose himself in that sweet heat. Right now, the temptation was too great, and as much as the thought aroused him, he had no intention of fucking Jenna in the back of the El Camino.
Not tonight, anyway.
Instead, he moved his hand over her hip, along the curve of her waist, then higher until his fingers brushed the swell of her breast. He felt a shiver run through her, then heard her whisper his name.
"Jenna," he murmured as he cupped his hand over her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple, hard now under the thin material of her bra and her blouse.
She drew in a shuddering breath, her back arching in an invitation to a more intimate touch.
He wanted to accept. Hell, he wanted to rip the blouse wide open, to tug her bra down and flick his tongue over her nipple until she cried out for more.
And she would--he knew she would.
She was his now. No more waiting. No more wishing.
His.
Dear God, she was finally his.
And he intended to take his time to explore every inch of her, punishing her with unrelenting pleasure until she screamed his name and begged him to please, please take her, and--
"--please..."
The word, so recently at the center of his fantasy, caught his attention. "Jenna, we--"
"--can't," she finished, pulling away from him. She stood there, breathing hard, her expression miserable. "Reece, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But this is--I mean, it's not. I mean, we can't--"
She cut herself off again, then bit her lower lip before swallowing hard and tilting her head up to meet his eyes. "Don't hate me," she whispered, "but I just can't."
Chapter Eleven
Reece opened the bottle of Jack he kept in the cabinet beside his sink, poured himself a shot, then hurled the damn glass across the room without even taking a sip.
Fuck.
He'd lost her.
She'd been right there. His. Right in his arms, exactly where she was supposed to be. And somehow he'd fucking lost her.
He dropped down onto the sofa, then took a swig straight from the bottle, closing his eyes as the whiskey burned its way down the back of his throat.
Why the hell should he be surprised? He knew damn well that even if he had her, he'd never be able to keep her. Each and every one of his relationships had fallen apart. He just hadn't expected the end with Jenna to come only minutes after the beginning.
With a groan, he let his head fall back while he rubbed his chest in a futile effort to heal the jagged wound she'd inflicted when she'd ripped herself away from him so that she'd be on time for Easton.
Fucking Easton, a goddamn pretty boy attorney. One who didn't live in an apartment over his father's garage. Who was steady. Interesting. And who hadn't gambled away his life's savings to help a friend.
Hell, he was probably good for her. An
d, God knew, Jenna deserved the best.