Page 51 of The Score

And then we hear it. Footsteps. Voices. Laughter. The players are coming out of the chute. Dean smiles wickedly. Then he plunges that hard dick inside me?—

And I come so hard I forget how to breathe. I lie on my bed, gasping, trembling. Stars flash behind my closed eyelids as the orgasm crashes through me in hot, pulsing waves.

Oh myGod.

That was… It was… I don’t even have the words to describe it.

And the sad part? The orgasm that just ripped me to shreds wasn’t half as powerful as the ones Dean gave me in person.

I’m still shaking from the aftershocks as Ifumble in the dark until my hand lands on the box of tissues atop my nightstand. I pull a couple out and use them to wipe between my legs. I can’t remember the last time I got this wet during a solo session.

Think of how much wetter you’ll be if you fuck me again…

Argh. I can practically hear Dean taunting me. Enticing me…

I take a breath. Okay. I’m a pragmatic person. And I aced that Argumentative Logic course I took in freshman year. So maybe I need to rationalize this out.

Premise I: Dean Di Laurentis is a phenomenal lay.

Premise II: He wants to have sex with me again.

Premise III: The idea of having sex with him turns me on.

Conclusion: I should have sex with Dean.

All right, that one was easy enough. Now comes the complicated part.

Premise I: Casual sex makes me uncomfortable.

Premise II: I just got out of a long-term relationship and am not ready for another one.

Premise III: Even if I was, I wouldn’t want a relationship with manwhore Dean.

Conclusion: Um…?

I try another one:

Premise I: I don’t want a relationship with Dean.

Premise II: He doesn’t want a relationship with me.

Conclusion: We should have casual sex.

Another no-brainer, but it still doesn’t solve the Casual Sex conundrum. Really, though, if I stop to think about it, the only person dishing out any judgment here isme. Will a fling with Dean make me a slut? He certainly doesn’t think so. Neither would my friends, although I certainly don’t plan on telling them about it if I choose to fling Dean. Which raises the question, why do I want to keep it a secret?

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I ponder that. The answer continues to stump me, but the idea of everyone knowing I’m screwing around with Dean still brings a rush of discomfort. Fine. It’ll have to remain a secret. Maybe tomorrow I can give some more thought as towhyI feel that way.

Well…shit. Have I actually reached a decision?

I’m already grabbing my phone, so…yeah, I guess I have.

I tap Dean’s name and enter one word in the message box:Okay.

You’ve got to give the man credit—he knows exactly what I mean, because he types back,When?

Me: Tomorrow nite? Hannah’s staying at your place. You can come here. 8?

Him: Kiddie game starts at 6. Won’t be free til 9.

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