The hot skin of his chest presses against mine, his breath a rough, disjointed sound. Both of us groan as the blunt head of his c**k pushes into me. And in, working his way deeper. Until I’m filled with him.
We still for a moment, centered on the feel of him pulsing inside of me. Inside me. Drew Baylor is inside me. It’s like a fever dream. Unreal, and yet it’s the most present I’ve ever been in my own flesh. And then he moves. Pumps hard and deep. Dream or not, it no longer matters.
Every time he thrusts, he makes a little helpless grunt as if he needs more, more. I understand. The thickness of his c**k filling and emptying me, the silk of his skin sliding over mine, isn’t enough. I’m burning up, shaking with pleasure. I didn’t know it could be like this.
My hands clutch the shifting muscles of his back, pulling him closer. He trembles, his grip moving to my ass, holding it as he does what he wants to me. And I let him, because nothing has felt better.
“Jones,” he rasps in my ear. Needy. Dark.
So close. So close.
His teeth graze the sensitive area low on my neck. When he bites down, sucking hard as he grinds against my clit, I come with bright and blinding brilliance.
As if I set something off, he goes wild, bucking and thrusting. His eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches. The way he looks at me, all heat and intensity. I know exactly what he’s feeling, because I need him with the same urgency. I dig my fingers into the tight globes of his ass. His entire body goes granite hard, straining against mine as he comes with a harsh cry, and his eyes do not leave mine until the last spasm goes through him.
Lax and sated, we melt into each other, our chests lifting and falling in a shared breath.
When he talks, his voice is coarse as gravel. “God, Jones. That was…” His voice fails, but his grip on me tightens. Like he’s not going to let me go.
Reality is a fall through ice into deep, dark water. I freeze in the aftermath. What the f**k have I done?
I’M STILL SHAKING when I get home. My hands are useless, fumbling with the button of my jeans, grasping and missing the taps before I manage to turn on the shower. Full-out cold.
I’m a wreck. My heart is beating like I’ve just done an hour of shuttle drills. And it doesn’t seem to want to slow down.
Icy water hits my overheated skin, and I hiss.
Holy hell, what just happened?
Anna Jones has wrecked me. Utterly.
Memories assault me, the pale, undulating length of her body arching up to mine; drawing her hard, luscious nipple deep in my mouth; the soft, warm weight of her br**sts cupped in my hands. I groan. My knees actually go weak, and I have to lean against the tiles or risk falling over.
Water pours over my face and runs into my eyes before I squeeze them closed. But it doesn’t stop those images from playing. Her rounded thighs spread wide. For me. A small thatch of curls and plump, wet lips glistening. For me. I licked and sucked every inch of that prize. Her taste is still in my mouth.
“Shit.” My voice echoes in the shower.
And though goose bumps cover my skin, I’m hot again. And hard. The tip of my randy dick presses against the cold tiles, and I find myself nudging forward just to alleviate the pressure. Shit. I want her again. Now. Badly.
I don’t even try to stroke myself. It’s not going to help. The horny bastard wants Anna, not my hand. Besides, I cringe at jacking off to thoughts of her now like a pathetic beggar.
God, it was humiliating to watch the realization of what she did steal over her features and the horror creep into her eyes. She couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’d sat back on my haunches like a moron as she wrenched up her top and scrambled off the sofa. Her panties were a lost cause, apparently, because she simply fled the room with a mumbled “Sorry—Bye” tossed my way.
She didn’t even let me kiss her. That burns the most. As if kissing me was so personal that she couldn’t bear it. As if she needed to relegate me to some random, near faceless f**k.
I groan again and run a hand over my face. My arms feel like lead, and I’m shivering. Slowly, I turn on the hot water and sink to the hard floor of the shower stall. I’ve just experienced the hottest, most erotic, life-changing sex of my life, and I don’t think I’m going to get a repeat. Tonight was obviously an ill-advised hook up for her. And I’m so screwed because it was the best thing that has ever happened to me.
IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. That’s what we’ll pretend. Flashes of Baylor rising over me, of his chest sliding against mine, his thick, heavy c**k sinking… My steps wobble. Okay, it did happen, and I’m unable to pretend otherwise. But it doesn’t really count. It was a…a…cosmic blip, a slight detour from reality. It was a hook up. No more. No less. I can do this. I’ve had hook ups before. Wham, bam, thank you, man. Lust satisfied. Life goes on.
Taking a deep breath, I head down the hall toward my class.
Shit on a Popsicle stick. Baylor lounges against the door, one long leg crossed over the other, his arms lightly folded over his broad chest. My heart pounds like a frightened rabbit trying to spring from a fox.
He watches me, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Traitor that my body is, my pulse leaps at that smile. My mouth wants to smile back. I bite the inside of my lip. It gets worse as I draw up before him. I know him now. I know the texture of his skin, what his c**k feels like deep inside of me, the sounds he makes when he comes.
“Hey,” he says.
My skin prickles. God, his voice. His voice whispering against my wet sex. Stop me. I swallow thickly.