Page 36 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

His rod sinks into me. I gasp for air, my arms clutching around his neck tightly, my legs wrapped around his waist.

“Yes, Vaughn, I want you to fuck me,” I say—no, I more squeaked as that doesn’t even qualify as a voice.

“Say less, baby,” he whispers into my ear, and then he nibbles at my earlobes and sucks in tender flesh on my neck.

This man is about to drive me crazy.

I moan loudly, and just as if that’s what he’s been waiting for, he starts thrusting in and out of me, making me moan even louder.

He fucks me relentlessly, driving me wild with pleasure, fireworks exploding in my head with each stroke. I can already feel an approaching wave of orgasm spreading all over my body. When I finally came, I let out a loud cry, my nails digging into his hard back. He groans as he spits his load into me, and then he collapses on me.

“That’s the best fucking sex I have ever had,” he says, his sculpted chest pressed against my breasts. The contented smile on his face almost makes me believe him, but then I ask, “Better than all the models you rich soccer players have access to?”

He laughs and leans in for a kiss. “They don’t compare, darling.”

Darling?

“Look how red your cheeks are,” he continues, tracing the red patch on my cheek with soft kisses. “I could fuck you all day, you know.”

Hmm, romantic. Almost like it isn’t Vaughn.

A wave of unease hits me, and then I pull back. I stare around like I am just being aware of my surroundings for the first time. For some reason, I feel confused and scared.

Something isn’t right. A couple of minutes ago, he was at my door. How the heck did we end up on my bed?

He notices.

“What’s wrong? Just realizing I am not really in bed with you?”

“What?”

He snickers. “Don’t worry, you’ll come off it shortly.”

And I did.

My eyes shoot open, and I literally wake up gasping for air.

That’s insane! Did I just have a dream about Vaughn? A sex dream, for that matter?

The wetness I suddenly notice in between my legs gives me an answer, and embarrassment churns in my stomach.

It’s dreams like these that get you in jail. Wait a minute—had my subconscious secretly wished Vaughn had followed me home on the day we had sex in his study? I mean . . . the sex wasn’t bad, but to the point of imagining—no, dreaming of what happened right after is next-level insane. It felt so real.

My chest tightens with worry as my feet find my shoes. Yes, it’s a dream, but notjusta dream. Two years of my life have been mostly spent working with Vaughn, and if that ends any time soon, I sure don’t want this to be the reason.

***

Archie jumps happily as I put on a light shirt and a pair of jeans from my wardrobe. It seems like she’s figured out that today is going to be a good day.

I mean, why blame her? Rachel Reed, her human, is the busiest person in New York, slaving her ass off for a soccer player who doesn’t seem to care. That is one hell of an improvement!

I drop lipstick on the mirror stand to pick Archie up. “Guess what, baby? We are gonna go out, walk around town and meet new people, buy some snacks for a movie night, and generally have a wonderful time! Guess who’s home with you today?”

She gently claws at my hair in response, undoing the perfect bun I had done my hair into.

“Well, I guess I’ll just leave it like that then. Bet you like it better this way.”

I look at my reflection in the mirror, and a smile crosses my lips. I look . . . beautiful. Carelessly beautiful.

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