Page 50 of Scrimmage

“Not enough to mute two people having sex.”

“Guess we’d better be quiet then.” He grabs my hip and grinds into me. My knees almost buckle when I feel how hard he is. Koda yanks my leggings and underwear down, sliding his fingers through my folds. “You’re always so wet, baby girl. Is all of that for me?”

The answer makes me ashamed of myself. He presses his palm into my upper back, shoving me over. I catch myself on the wall with my hands. It’s too late when I realize he might be able to see it. The brand. I’m pretty careful, finding a million ways to fuck and keep it hidden. I should cover it up with ink. I should, but I can’t. It’s the last little thing I hold on to. I can’t tell if it’s a reminder of the good or the evil. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s the same reason I’ve been holding onto that unopened letter from Memphis.

If Koda notices, he doesn’t say anything. He pushes my feet apart and notches his head in my center, andfuckI’m basically salivating at the pussy for him to push inside of me.

“Say my name,” he demands.

“Chance,” I answer with a strained laugh. He disappears, leaving cold space between my thighs. “Okay. Okay. Koda. Fuck.”

“Good girl,” he praises.

When he first pushes in, my eyes roll back and I moan. He clamps his hand over my mouth to silence me. Koda takes his time, letting me adjust, but I’m not used to that. I’m used to wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I look back over my shoulder. He’s focused, eyes staring directly where he’s entering me. His abs are flexed through his shirt as he bites his fist. Gorgeous. His gaze flickers to mine, and I could swear I see flecks of green among the black.

Koda is mesmerizing. He holds my gaze like I’m a snake and he’s the charmer. I should look away, but I can’t. He takes his hand from his mouth and pulls me flush to him. His arm is wrapped around my neck in a chokehold as he bites my shoulder. I would scream, but he’s cutting off my airway. His other hand reaches around and lightly circles my clit. The blood pulses in my head. The orgasm is coming for me like a tidal wave.

“Damn it, Ash. You’re gonna make me come,” he growls while pumping in and out at an even pace. “Stop squeezing me so hard.”

“I can’t control it,” I whine. “It feels s-so good.”

There’s fear in his eyes. “Ash, I...I don’t—Fuck. I can’t. I’m gonna come.”

The words spill from his lips, but it’s already too late for me. I can’t shove him. I can’t refuse. I can’t even care. Koda has put a spell on me. His dick gets harder and he holds me to him when he comes, then rides it out. I hate him for making it feel so good.

We’re both sweating and panting when we finish. I’m an idiot. I’ve once again fucked Koda Armory, without protection, and let him finish inside of me. This is not how I do things. I get drunk, make some loser wrap it, and go home hoping to never see him again. I pull my leggings up and grab my bag, contemplating what life choices led me here. The memory of Damien surges up instilling fear inside of me.

“Where are you going?” Koda asks casually.

“We don’t talk,” I snap, storming out of the door. I take the stairs two at a time, almost falling face down. I hit the main floor, fly through the doors, and I run.

I run until I make it home to my safe place. The house is dark as I blaze through the foyer, throwing my shit everywhere. Penny won’t be home for hours. I turn the shower on so high that it burns my skin, and I scrub and scrub until Koda Armory, and anyone else for that matter, is gone. I used to do that until my skin would bleed, but I stop myself. This isn’t Damien.

I repeat that—my new mantra.

This isn’t Damien. This isn’t Damien. This isn’t Damien.

Who do you belong to, Ashland?

I look at my red skin in the mirror. Me. I belong to me.

Chapter Eight

Koda

I’m trying as hard as I can to pretend Ashland doesn’t exist. I still haven’t text her. I thought that by now she might seek me out, but she usually pretends I’m not there the times I've been around her, minus a few shitty comments usually about my brain cells. When I see her, though, it’s a fight for my life not to rail her on the table, the wall, or even the fucking grass. The problem with Ashland is that her pussy has me in some sort of trance. I’ve had sex before, but I just never really enjoyed it. Not like this.

“So the annual weekender is this weekend,” Alexi says from my couch as I mix my pre-workout.

“And?”

“And whose driving?”

“I’m not going.” I decided a while ago that I wouldn’t.

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