“You can hate me all you want,” he murmured in a raspy voice. “But you still want me desperately.”
There was no point in denying it. Not after the way I’d reacted. Not when he could look down and see what my jeans failed to hide. So I didn’t bother to say anything he could easily refute, but looked him straight in the eye. “Let me go. Now.”
He hesitated for a moment and then did as I demanded.
I shoved him hard, then turned fast and all but sprinted up the stairs. Because he was right. As much as I hated him, I still wanted him.6
I was keyed up and turned on. Still hard, I paced the confines of my room, alternately pissed and horny. I thought about just taking care of the issue myself—a little lube and my left hand were all I needed—but I didn’t want to give Spencer the satisfaction of knowing he’d affected me so much. I gritted my teeth and kept pacing, determined to ignore my hard-on.