He hummed against my neck, his voice a low murmur, his lips brushing just beneath my ear. “Hm?”

I shivered. “You’re an asshole.”

“B, you’re the one trying to kiss me.”

“And you’re the one kissing me somewhere else.”

“You don’t like it? Tell me to stop.”

I wanted to punch him. I wanted to kiss him.

This was my undoing.

I barely had time to react before his hands found my waist.

His mouth moved lower, ghosting along the base of my throat, slow and teasing. I clenched my jaw, gripping the fabric of his hoodie for dear life. “You’re an asshole,” I repeated.

Blake smirked against my skin. “You started it.”

I swallowed hard, tilting my head slightly, giving him more more access, my body betraying me in ways I couldn’t control.

Blake took his time. His lips brushed against the sensitive spot just below my ear, lingering there, warm and infuriating. His breath fanned against my throat, and I swore he was savoring every second of my unraveling.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my own breath coming out uneven. “You—” But I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Blake hummed, his lips curving against my skin again. “Hm? You were saying?”

I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to shove him away and scold him for pulling away from my kiss just to torture me.

But mostly, I just wanted him to keep going.

“You’re such a tease.”

Blake chuckled, low and smug. “And you’re impatient.”

I scoffed, my eyes flicking open.

His lips were still close to my neck, but his gaze met mine now—green and sharp and unbearably cocky.

“You think this is funny?”

Blake’s smirk widened. “I think you’re mad.”

“I am.”

“I think you like it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“I think you almost kissed me.”

I scowled.

He tilted his head, his lips still hovering way too close to my throat. “And I think,” he murmured, his fingers tightening just slightly around my waist, “you’re gonna try again.”

A challenge wrapped in silk.

For a heartbeat, I almost did. Almost.

I wasn’t about to let him walk away from this thinking he had the upper hand. So I did the only thing I could do.

I leaned in, brushed my lips against his ear, and whispered, “Not if you beg first.”

Blake froze.

His hands flexed against my waist, his breath catching just enough for me to know I had him.

My lips curved.

And then—just to twist the knife—I kissed the corner of his jaw, barely, before pulling away and hopping off the truck hood.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

His fingers curled into his hoodie like he was physically restraining himself.

With all the control I could muster, I grinned. “See you later, Loverboy.”