Page 151 of A Little Tempting

“You take me so good, baby.” I watch her pussy swallow my dick, the image tattooing itself into my brain. “So fucking good.” Thrusting into her over and over again, my balls tighten, and I come inside her, throwing my head back as warmth spreads through me. Her core tightens around me. Her arms give out, and she collapses onto the bed, spent from her second orgasm.

“Let me get a towel,” I offer as I slide out of her.

“Ah, come on,” she peeks over her shoulder at me. “You don’t want crusty sheets?”

I chuckle. “Do you want me to have crusty sheets?”

The girl pauses thoughtfully. “I mean, I kind of like the idea of being the only girl to ruin your bed?—”

“You mean of lettingmeruin my bed.”

“Yeah.That.” Her grin widens.

Tilting my head, I challenge, “You’re seriously gonna make me wash my sheets all so you can prove you’re the only girl I’ve fucked in my bed?”

She crumbles into a fit of laughter. “Okay, your face made this even more priceless, but no, I’m teasing. Get me a towel so we can snuggle without worrying about rolling around in your mess. Mmmkay, pumpkin?”

I smack her ass, and she squeals, laughing even harder. I step back, grab my shirt since it’s close by, and clean her up, tossing the dirty fabric into the laundry basket. When I find her staring at me with a soft smile, I ask, “There a problem, Pickles?”

“I like it when you take care of me.”

“Always gonna take care of you,” I tell her, slipping back into bed and tugging her toward me. Once she’s comfortable, I grab the remote from the nightstand and turn on the television. “Now, what movie should we watch?”

39

DYLAN

I’m not gonna lie. I feel a little ridiculous wearing Oliver’s jersey, but it’s a good kind of ridiculous. Like I scratched the winning number on the lottery ticket, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Squeal? Do a happy dance? Pretend like my life hasn’t been turned upside down, and everything is like it was, only I’m in on the secret, and damn, it’s a good one. I’m no secret, though. Nope. Oliver has always made his intentions with me very clear. He’s never hidden this. Me and him. He refuses to. And there’s something about being claimed so openly. So confidently. I like it. A lot, actually. So, yeah. Sitting here in the stands while wearing his jersey with his number painted on my cheeks as I watch him score two goals in the first period makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world, and I’m so here for it.

As the red light flashes behind the opposing team’s goal, Reeves points to me in the stands and starts twerking in his gear. I shake my head, my cheeks aching as I grin from ear to ear. Seriously, he’s the biggest goofball on the planet.

“Yeah, you totally love him,” Finley points out beside me.

The word catches me off guard, and I tear my attention from Reeves heading back to the bench and pin Finley with a look instead. “What did you say?”

“She said you totally love him,” Ophelia repeats from my opposite side. She’s sandwiched between Mav and me. He's currently oblivious to our conversation, cheering for his team the same way I should be if I wasn’t so distracted by my friends’ accusations. When my head snaps in Ophelia’s direction, she adds, “What? You’re surprised you love Reeves?”

Tugging at the hem of my shirt, I consider her question while nibbling on the edge of my thumb. Love? Who said anything about love? I mean, I get it. I care about him more than almost anyone. When I’m not with him, I feel like a not-so-little piece of me is missing. And when he’s around, I can’t stop smiling. Butlove?

Holy shit. Do I love Oliver Reeves?

“Told ya,” Finley teases.

I lower my hand and scowl at my best friends. “We’ve only been dating for a little while.”

“So?” Finley prods.

Ophelia laughs, clearly finding way too much enjoyment from my bludgeoned epiphany. “Yeah.So?”

“So…” My voice trails off, and I stand, determined to avoid my best friends and their perceptive gazes even if it’s the last thing I do. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Aw, come on!” Finley argues. “You can’t run from your feelings, Dylan!”

“Who said I’m running?” I call over my shoulder. I reach for the hem of the jersey I’m wearing and tug it down as if to shine a light on Reeves’ first name sprawled across my shoulders while solidifying my point. I’m not running from anything. And even though it should be terrifying, it isn’t. Because it’s Oliver Reeves.

Ha. Who would’ve thunk it?

Weaving through the throngs of students and LAU fans, I head to the bathroom. It’s almost empty since most people wait until the end of the period instead of sneaking out of the seating area a few minutes beforehand. I, however, don’t feel like hanging out in line for the next twenty minutes, thank you very much. After finishing up in one of the stalls, I wash my hands in the sink. As I reach for the paper towels, an eerie feeling settles over me, and my body flicks into full alert mode when I turn to the exit and find Officer Reeves glaring back at me.

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