Page 34 of Naughty November

“Then again, nobody knows you like I do,” he added. “I won’t ask.”

For what, my limits? He better not. As he’d already said—he knew me. He knew.

I didn’t wanna talk about it, because the risk of him actually doing anything was slim to none. He talked the talk to get a rise out of me, but I’d known him long enough never to take the bait.

No, this was better. I’d face him in the dirt once more. I’d get a new fantasy, one I was never going to suppress, and before we got there, I could live on the minusculewhat-if. What if he actually threw me down and rapefucked my ass.

Shit.

Pleasure welled up inside and erupted before I could react, and I was thrown into my orgasm.

“Fuck,” I heard him grit out.

I moaned as ropes of come hit my stomach, and I heard him too. His grunts and his growl-like groan; he was coming, and I wanted to fucking see it. Feel it. Taste it…

Goddamn.

My body gave up. Every muscle unclenched, and I melted into the cushions.

“Jesus Christ,” I panted.

He blew out a heavy breath. “Yeah.”

I blinked drowsily, looking for the nearest—fuck it. I picked up my underwear and wiped my stomach.

Had this just happened?

My fucking God.

“I’ll buy you breakfast after security tomorrow if you don’t make shit awkward,” he said.

I let out a tired chuckle. At the moment, I was too blissed out and sufficiently intoxicated. Awkwardness didn’t exist, and I was ready to continue drinking to keep it that way.

How I’d feel when I got up in a few hours—we’d see.

“I think only Five Guys is open when we get there,” I drawled.

“Works for me,” he replied through a yawn. “Goodnight, Max.”

I swallowed. “Night, Reid.”

FOUR

REID MCKINLEY

First sign of Max’s hangover? He upgraded us to business and did everything to avoid people. Well, actually, the first sign was probably that he looked like shit.

Third sign, he declined a perfectly good Five Guys burger and looked like he was one whiff of cheese away from vomiting.

I felt my forehead crease, and I bit into my burger. “How much did you drink last night?”

Should I be worried? I’d expected some level of awkwardness from yesterday, but if he’d ended up inhaling a bottle of gin or vodka—his usual poison—maybe he didn’t remember yet.

“Not that much.” He frowned. “Four or five drinks.”

“So you’re a lightweight now. Good to know.” I nodded at a bench closer to our gate.

He was so done that he didn’t even flip me off.

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