Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
My dick swells with blood, every nerve in my body feeling it. “Oh, fuck.”
I fist his hair, not looking at the side of his face, those back muscles I love, or the neck I want to kiss. I watch my dick slide in and out of the golden boy of St. Carmen, on the rich leather couch of their precious Ministry office.
“Dallas, fuck,” he grits out.
Sweat glides down my chest. “You want me to stop?”
“Fuck you, Swamp Rat.”
I chuckle. “You like it?”
I see his smile. “Yeah,” he whispers.
I pump harder and faster, my orgasm cresting. Damn right, you do.
I thrust—and then again—the muscles in my dick starting to contract until everything spills. I come, sliding in and out of him slower and slower as the tension releases and I slowly relax.
My muscles are on fire, my body drenched, and the orgasm spreads through the rest of my body. Fuck…
I collapse, my mouth on his neck.
My chest sticks to his back, and he just lies there, too, both of us breathing in unison.
I thread my fingers through his hair, and I grip it lightly, possessively.
We could stay here the rest of the night. If we wanted to. I could fall asleep like this.
I draw in a breath and peel myself off of him, though. I sleep best alone.
“Shower,” I say, standing up.
I dispose of the condom and pull up my pants, heading toward the gym showers.
We wash, him running soap over his body as I rinse out the shampoo in my hair. Every time I look over, though, he’s barely meeting my eyes.
I didn’t hurt him, did I? I look at the floor, suds draining but no blood or anything. I have no problem giving him the black eye he deserves, but I don’t want to hurt him like that.
I just…
It felt…natural. Fucking him.
When he was straddling me and we were looking at each other, I…
I didn’t like it. It was like I couldn’t get far enough inside of him or have my hands in every place I wanted at the same time.
I didn’t want to stop.
Why him?
We finish and head to the locker room, pulling on our pants and the shirts we retrieved from the weight room.
I slick back my hair. “When are you seeing him?”
I see him look over at me as he pulls down his quarter zip. “Tomorrow night,” he mumbles, then clarifies. “Tonight.”
It’s past two in the morning. I want to know where and when, but I don’t need to know, so I’m not fucking asking.
God, I need to fuck someone else. Tonight.
“Well, if you don’t like him,” I say, meeting his eyes, “send him my way.”
He says nothing, just stares at me as he slips his phone into his pocket and pulls out his keys.
The guy was hot enough.
Finally, he looks away. “I’ll send a car for Sophia at seven a.m.”
He walks away, and in a moment, I hear the locker room door slam shut.
Lifting each shoe onto the bench, I tie my laces and grab my phone to text my brother. I need to make sure he made it back to the pub.
But something fills my throat, an invisible thread pulling at me the more the seconds tick by and the farther away Callum Ames gets from me. The breath leaves me, and I lower my hand before I can send the text and drop my forehead into the lockers.
A sob lodges in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Why him?
What do I care if he’s with someone else? He’ll still give in to me whenever I want. Of that, I’m certain.
I shake my head, grinding it into the locker.
I don’t want him. I don’t want anyone. I don’t want that life.
He can’t be trusted anyway.
Neither can I.
I could never say things to him that he’d want me to say.
The images won’t go away, though. He doesn’t deserve to be happy. Someone else kissing him, in bed with him, making him feel good and touching him…
Slamming my hand into the locker, I bolt out of the locker room, shoving my phone into my pocket. Taking a right, I charge down to the attached church where the students go for Mass every Wednesday morning. Yanking open the doors, I stalk down the center aisle as lightning flashes through the stained-glass windows.
I glare up at the crucifix hanging behind the altar. “Send a fucking hurricane,” I bark at him. “Kill him or wash out the road or ground all the flights or…”
Clenching my jaw shut, I draw in deep breaths and close my eyes, not sure what’s happening to me. What the fuck do I want?
I open my mouth and close it again, water pooling in my eyes.
Finally, I can’t hold it back anymore. “I don’t want anyone else to touch him!”
My fists are balled, every limb tight, as the realization that I’m falling for him hits me.