Page 73 of The Risk

I gesture toward her. “I mean, look at you. You’re smoking hot. Are you saying he didn’t try to…?”

“I never said he didn’t try. But…” She trails off again.

“But what? Are you a virgin?”

“No. I’m just picky about who I let inside me.”

Damned if that doesn’t make my dick hard. She’s not allowed to say things like “inside me,” because now I’m picturing being inside her, and I’m horny as hell.

“We did other stuff,” she says. “There’s always other stuff.”

“Is there?” My throat is full of gravel.

“What, no one’s ever told you that you can come without having sex?”

“Nah. I didn’t know that.” I blink with the utmost innocence. “Can you show me?”

Brenna punches my shoulder. Light and teasing. “You wish.”

“I do wish. I don’t want to alarm you, but please direct your attention to my crotch.”

Despite her amusement, she does what I ask. Instantly, her gaze sizzles. “Oh my. Thinking about McCarthy gets you hard?”

“Like stone.” I pull her onto my lap, eliciting a squeak of surprise.

But she recovers quickly, and soon she’s rubbing that sweet ass all over me as she tries to get comfortable. “Tell your boner to stop stabbing my butt,” she grumbles.

“Hey, you’re the reason I even have a boner.” I tug her head down so I can whisper in her ear. “You’re evil, talking about all the ways you can make a guy come without putting him inside you.”

Damn, she smells so good. I breathe in the scent of her shampoo, sweet with a mere trace of spice. Which is funny, because Brenna is the exact opposite—spicy, with a hint of sweetness. I like the spice, though. I like it a lot.

“What about you?” I ask her.

“What about me?”

“What did you get out of the McCarthy arrangement?”

She arches a brow. “You really want to know what your teammate did to me?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. Maybe in the broad sense,” I finally decide.

“Nah. I’ll leave it up to your imagination.”

And my imagination is running wild, except I’m not picturing Josh McCarthy in bed with her. I’m picturing myself.

“That thing is going to poke right through your pants,” she teases, and I feel a distinct sense of loss when she slides off my lap. “Anyway, what now? Want to play one more game before we take off?” She checks her phone “It’s ten. How long is this place open until?”

“I think eleven.”

“Should we close it down?”

“Might as well.”

Bowling with a stiffy isn’t the easiest task, but I manage. I beat her for a third time, and we return our shoes and pay for our lane.

Outside, Brenna bypasses her Jeep and walks to the Mercedes instead. “Unlock it,” she orders.

My pulse quickens. I unlock the car.

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