Page 33 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

I’m starving for her again. I’ve never felt like this for another woman. How much I want to date this chick and keep her around is practically mental.

I’m too young for a mid-life crisis, so I’m not sure what this is, but I need to find out.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, Snowflake.” I’m about to buckle my seatbelt when her fingers touch my forearm, and she gains my attention again.

“I changed my mind. Push your seat back.”

Fuck.

I’m about to question it, but Rory’s a big girl.

Rory's gaze never leaves mine, a silent pact between us burning fiercer than the neon lights outside. She bites her lip—a quiet, unspoken challenge—and shifts her position without breaking eye contact.

Rory moves with purpose—her hand slides from my forearm, planting firmly on my shoulder for leverage. Deliberately, with a grace that's all her own, she swings one leg over my thighs, her movements unhurried, giving me the chance to protest—but I won't. Not when every cell in my body is cheering her on to keep going and give me everything I’ve imagined since the first night we met.

She straddles me, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. My hands instinctively find her hips, grounding her and me as the space in my lap becomes her new seat.

Her weight anchors me in the moment, and our electric attraction is undeniable.

“Rory,” I start my voice a growl of anticipation. “I will fuck you here.”

“That’s what I was hoping for.” Then, her lips crash against mine with renewed vigor. The kiss ignites my body, crossing the line we both know is still drawn. Rory’s hands explore, tracing lines down my chest and over my heart, branding me with each touch.

I respond with my hands roaming upwards, shaping the curve of her spine, marveling at the softness of her skin beneath her shirt.

It’s reckless, it’s heated, and it's unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Rory has already climbed onto more than just my lap—she's maneuvered straight into the core of me, setting up camp where I’d least expected it.

“Take off those leggings, or I’m ripping them off,” I ground out, impatience taking over me now because I can’t wait another second to be inside her.

“I brought extra clothes.”

Done.

Gripping onto the fabric of her leggings, I tear at the seams, leaving her in a pair of lace panties.

This shit is real.

I need her to know that and to keep me as an option.

10

CHAPTER TEN

RORY

Here I am, in the lap of Judson Wells, the notorious playboy defenseman that every best friend would warn you about.

I'm not just crossing the line—I'm doing a full-on defiant dance on it. And yet, as his hands steady on my hips, I can't find it within me to care about the whispers that'll follow.

I weave my fingers into his hair, that blond, messy crown I’ve imagined so many times, longing to touch it again.

Spoiler: it’s as soft and unruly as you’d want it to be. Each twist and pull sends signals racing down my spine, lighting me up from the inside out.

He looks up at me with those eyes, green and deep enough to drown in, and all my uncertainties bubble to the surface. I’ve seen this look before—on the first night we met, at that bar where the air was charged with rivalry and attraction. He had no idea who I was then, just another girl in a crowded room. But that night, something sparked, a connection neither of us could deny despite everything that should have stopped it dead.

His reputation is well-known—a string of conquests trailing behind him like some badge of honor. But as his breath fans across my skin, I realize he's more. He's pulling me into his orbit, and the scary part?

I want to find my way in.

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