Page 45 of Butterfly Effect

“What?”

“Youreadthis?”

Pretty Boy’s eyes narrow. “Iamliterate, y’know. Judging from the way you misquote Shakespeare, I’m not sure about you, though.”

“I know how to read, jerk. I thought these were decorative.”

He responds with a disgusted face. “People do that?”

“Supposedly.”

“What a weird thing to do. Books are for reading. Or at least collecting in hopes of reading.”

“Who are you?” I say under my breath.

Maybe he’s not a chauvinistic, dumb jock. The last glimpse of that side of him was through a post-orgasm haze.

We stared at the ceiling, every breath heavier than the last. Sweaty. Spent. Naked. Wade’s dazed expression held irrefutable proof of what we’d just done. Three times. If this hotel bed could talk, it’d need a cigarette and a strong drink.

Oh, Gabe, you big dummy. Why did you kiss him again? Kissing Wade—bad. But he’s so good at it. Too good, if I’m honest.

Unlike the quickie in the closet, he’d taken his time. Kissed, touched, worshiped. Slow, patient. Swallowed each of mymoans and fed me groan after groan, whispering filthy praises while filling me up in a way that I hadn’t been in many years. Maybe ever.

“You sucked my cock so good, Gabe. Your tight cunt’s gonna take all of it, too.”

Between Vaughn and I, sex was about pride. A competitive sort of race for who could get the other to the finish first and the most times. I usually won, because men are easy. A blowjob here, a finger in the ass there, and kapow! Cum shot everywhere.

Wade fucked like what I wanted mattered. Like I mattered.

If only outside of that night, outside of that hotel room, he wasn’t obnoxious.

I hid my face and aggressively sighed as he snuck off to the ensuite for a piss before returning to the mattress.

At least he had the decency to throw on a pair of pajama pants. Its matching striped top got lobbed my way. Shifting to his stomach, he tucked a hand under his pillow. His hair fell in a voluminous wave against its surface, eyes drooping closed with the next exhale. Lush lashes darkened the crest of his angled cheekbones with their shadows. Pretty Boy was almost angelic.

“I should…go.”

He hummed through a soft yawn.Good, he agrees.My gaze lingered too long.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep staring?” Wade mumbled, not moving from his comfortable position.

I cringed and scooched down to yank the sheet over my head.

“Don’t go shy on me now, Freckles.” He joined me under the white bedsheet, those sleepy eyes narrowing. I pulled both lips into my mouth and shook out a denial. “I’ve already been inside you.”

“I should definitely go.”

When I tried to escape, Wade curled an arm around my hips and tugged me close. “No.” He wrapped me in his shirt and buttoned it over my chest. “You can’t.”

“Sure, I can.”

“You’re not some fling that can sneak away in the middle of the night.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Stop arguing,” he admonished quietly while his hand squeezed my waist, repositioning us so we were face-to-face. “Just stay.” Calluses on his fingertips stroked a sensitive stretch of skin at my midsection, his swollen, red lips brushing my cheek. Knots in my sex hair caught in his grip, but he detangled and tried again with aimless, winding lines across my scalp until I responded with an unintentional hum. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“You treat all your one-night stands like this?”

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