Page 51 of His Passerotta

She flinches like I’ve startled her but leans into me after a moment. It takes a minute, but the spoiled mood seems to dissipate and allows desire to creep back in. I take her shoulders, gently guiding her to her back, and run my hand under her shirt.

“It’s my turn to owe you,” I whisper into her ear, squeezing her tits trapped in a bra.

“Mmm, I could get on board with that,” she whispers back.

My skin heats as my cock comes back to life. Normally, eating pussy feels like a chore, but my mouth waters at the idea of her honey on my tongue. Every reaction my body has to her is abnormal.

She takes my hand, leading me to her pants, and I eagerly work my fingers beneath her panties.

The second I hit gold, somebody knocks on the fucking door.

12

ANTHONY

Bailey stiffens beneath me, her nails digging into my arms. She reminds me of a cat jumping from water.

“B?” a distant, muffled voice calls.

“Oh shit,” Bailey whispers, shoving at my chest.

I climb off of her and lift my hands at my sides. “What?”

She jumps off the couch before yanking my arm. “Hide.”

“Hide?” I laugh. “What are we, thirteen?”

The lock unlatches.

“Please.” Bailey gives me a desperate, pleading look, so similar to when she got caught spying. It’s enough that I grab my shirt and crouch beside the couch, using it as a shield from whoever the fuck is at the door.

Boyfriend?

The thought has my teeth clenching and a coat of red painting over my eyes.

Bailey makes it to the front door just as it opens. I pull back before I see the person.

“Hey, are you okay?” a masculine voice asks just before the front door shuts. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“I was asleep,” she hurriedly says, not the least bit convincingly. “What do you want?”

“Are you pissed at me?” I can hear the frown in his voice.

“No, I… You know what, yes I am, but I have no desire to talk about it right now. It’s one in the morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I meant to come by sooner. I just got back from a job.”

“I don’t want to know, okay? Just go. Please.”

“No.” Footsteps sound down the hall, and I move to the front of the couch out of view when the guy goes into the kitchen. I’m mostly out of sight, but I can’t help but take a peek.

My nose crinkles as I take in the guy’s baggy jeans and greasy black hair. Two rings curl from his bottom lip, and he has a couple of Great Value-looking face tats.

This is the guy I’m competing with?

No fucking way.

“Corey!”

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