Page 136 of In It to Win It

“Christ. I trust you. Do you trust me?”

She nods. “Yes.”

My body throbs, heat mainlining through my veins, my cock an aching spike. I toss the condom over my shoulder and grip my shaft to run it through her folds, so soft and so wet.

I let out a long groan as I ease inside her. Her body closes around me, gripping me so tightly from root to tip as I seat myself fully. I pause, meeting her eyes, and reach for her hands to twine my fingers through hers.

“I want to be good enough for you,” I say hoarsely. “I may not be the best . . . but I want to be the best I can be.”

“You’re not a bad guy if you’re trying to be better. That’s all any of us can do. Try to be our best selves.”

I move inside her, clasping her hands. Sensation pours through me in waves, pressure building. Our eyes lock together and it’s excruciatingly intimate and yet . . . essential. I don’t care if she sees inside me, because she loves me. And I love her.

“This moment,” she says softly. “Enjoy this beautiful moment.”

“I want a million beautiful moments . . . with you.”

Thank you for reading JP and Taylor’s story! If you enjoyed it, please tell your friends!

And the Wynn Family saga continues! Read on for an excerpt fromWin Big!

EVERLY

They saythat everything happens for a reason.

But sometimes that reason is you’re drunk and make bad decisions.

In my defense, it was New Year’s Eve. Who doesn’t get drunk and make bad decisions on New Year’s Eve? Right?

Not me. I never make bad decisions. Well, not anymore. Not since I was sixteen years old and broke my parents’ hearts, destroyed their trust in me, and nearly wrecked a bunch of lives. Since then, it has been my life’s goal to never disappoint them again. That means never screwing up, working hard, being perfect. Easy peasy.

I’m lying in Wyatt Bell’s bed.

This is totally contrary to my life’s mission, on so many levels.

At least I’m alone, thank fuck.

Wyatt Bell. Six feet two inches, two hundred twenty pounds of sex on skates. Plays defense for the California Condors.

I know we made out for a while with our clothes on. It was hot as hell and I was happily oblivious to all the reasons we shouldn’t be doing that—chiefly, the fact that I hate him—as my lady parts combusted in a feverish explosion of lust. Wow.

I nearly have to wave a hand in front of my face as scorching heat rises to my cheeks.

A hockey player. On the team my dad owns.

God!Howstupidcould I be?

Anyway, my clothes are still on—a body con, short black dress, bra, and panties. Not like I had a lot to remove, but there’s comfort in the fact that I’m still clothed. And alone.

Where is he?

A headache drums at my temples and I lift my hands to rub there, closing my eyes. My mouth tastes like I licked the inside of a dumpster, and my stomach is... iffy. I think I have a hangover.

I’m not sure because it’s been that long since I had one. I don’t get drunk enough to be hungover.

I’m annoyed at myself.

I crack open my eyes. Daylight brightens the edges of the window around the blinds. I have no idea what time it is, but obviously the sun is up. I lift my head, which makes it pound more, and peer at the bedside table. No clock.

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