Page 97 of Some Like It Hott

“That this is just agood timesthing?”

I nod again.

“Because that asshole…?”

I nod until my neck hurts.

“I’m not him,” he says. “This is agood timesthing and abad timesthing. It’s a fun thing and a serious thing.” He’s quiet for a second, letting me see how much he means it, holding my gaze with his. “It’severything. I love all the things you are, Natalie.”

Then he kisses me again, long and hard and sweet, a kiss I feel all the way to my core and in every nerve ending. When we break it to breathe, I say, “It’s everything for me, too.” And then, “But we can play if you want to play.”

That makes him laugh. “I do,” he says, and then he backs me toward the bed and tips me over onto it, crawling over me.

“You’re wearing way too many clothes,” he says and starts trying to wrestle me out of them. I fight back, going after his clothes, too, and we’re laughing and wrestling and tangling ourselves up. At some point, breathless, we find ourselves naked, and he lowers himself over me, kissing me, his hard, muscular body smooth and hot except where his hair tickles and abrades me exactly right. And now neither of us is laughing, though we’re still breathless.

He’s serious for a split second, eyes on mine: “You want this?”

“I want this,” I say.

“Say ‘pastry’ if you need an out,” he says, reaching for a condom and rolling it on, gaze dark and fierce in a way that makes my whole body hot.

“Got it,” I say, and then he’s on me, growling, pinning me, while I struggle under him. And it feels so good, the play, the resistance, his weight. So good, too good, his cock hard as fuck and grinding down on me, right where I need him, his chest hair rubbing my nipples, and I’m already coming for him.

He tests me with two fingers, licks them clean with his eyes sharp on my face, watching my reaction—and you’d think I’d be too satisfied and boneless, but I feel that lick and suck all the way down, a hot clench of my inner muscles, and I moan and part my legs for him.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” I tell him.

But it’s not enough for him.

“I want to hear you say it,” he says.

“I want you inside me,” I say.

“Say it dirtier,” he instructs.

I grin at him. “Or?”

“Or I won’t do it.”

“Preston Hott,” I say, “you are the most funever.” And I whisper into his ear, “I need you to fuck me right now, you hear me?”

And because this man is fun just for me, he does.

Epilogue

Natalie—A bunch of weeks later

Preston slings a zinger across the surface of the air hockey table. It slides into my goal, and he gives a quiet yelp of triumph.

I sigh.

Here’s the thing.

It didn’t take Preston long to become a superstar at fun.

He needed an outlet for his competitive spirit, since he’s not helping companies devour other companies and gunning for a promotion—and apparently his outlet is…

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