Page 106 of Still Beating

“Lily! Damn you!” I curse, glaring at the message, then watching as my friend doubles over with laughter. “I hate youso much.”

A zing comes through and I force myself to open the message.

Dean:Hi Lily

My head is shaking back and forth, embarrassed by her immaturity, as I text my own reply.

Me:Sorry. She’s awful.

Dean:It was kind of funny

Me:No

Ugh. I toss my phone onto the sofa cushions as Lily comes down from her laugh attack. “How are you the worstandthe best at the same time?” I ponder, plopping back down with a huff.

Lily shrugs, joining me. “One of my many talents, along with singing the alphabet backwards and gardening.”

I try to return my attention to the TV show that we’ve been completely missing when Lily’s elbow pokes me in the ribs. “Ouch. What?”

“Well?”

I stare at her, unblinking.

“Are you going to invite him over?”

I scoff, returning my focus to the screen. “No. It’s a bad idea.”

“So is drinking Aldi wine, but we do it anyway.”

“One bad decision is enough for me tonight.”

Lily lets out a sigh but doesn’t push the matter, curling up with one of my throw pillows and whispering, “If you say so.”

An hour later, Dean has me bent over the kitchen table, pounding into me from behind as my fingernails scratch along the wood. He tugs my hair back, twisting my face to his, and I chant his name against his lips—I know it drives him wild.

He snakes his hand around my middle, sliding it down my stomach until it reaches its destination between my legs. With my sweatpants around my ankles, I arch into his touch, moaning when his fingers find my clit. “Oh, God…”

Dean works me into a frenzy, trailing his lips from mine and attacking my throat with his tongue. “You’re always so wet. I fucking love it.”

I gasp out loud, already edging towards release as I press myself against the table. Dean sweeps his fingers up the nape of my neck, collecting my long hair between them and squeezing his fist, ramming into me harder, while still fingering me with his other hand.

Holy, holy, holy crap.

This shouldn’t feel this good.

Why does this feel so good?

“Come for me, Cora,” he demands, leaning forward on top of me, his chest to my back, thrusting his hips with impossible intensity.

I shatter.

I dig my nails into the kitchen table, surely leaving marks, as my body convulses around him, a cry escaping my lips.

Dean whispers against my ear as I come down, brushing my hair aside and slowing his pace, “That’s my girl.”

I’m hardly recovered when he pulls out of me and spins me around, lifting me onto the table and settling between my legs. He kisses me as he pushes back inside, hands planted on either side of me as I link my ankles behind his back. His thrusts are slow and even, and I already feel the pressure building again when he breaks the kiss to hold my eyes.

God, his eyes. They will be my undoing.

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