Page 23 of The Bad Boy Rule

OH.

“He wouldn’t just help me to be nice because he’s not. But I could offer him my ice time for next semester. Summer said that since technically I signed up first, I get first dibs for nextsemester… which I’m not even sure he’s aware of yet. I could give it up to him, if he agrees.”

Maise’s eyes widen as her lips quirk in excitement. “Yes. Oh my God, this is kismet. It’s perfect, Len.”

“It’scrazy,” I correct her.

Maybe just crazy enough to actually work.

“Yeah, maybe so, but you know what else is crazy?”

“What?”

“Your father when he thinks you’re riding more than Saint’s motorcycle.” She giggles loudly, biting at her bottom lip.

I blanch, reaching out and pushing her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. He is stupidly hot though. I’ll give him that.”

“Yeah, he is, but on a serious note, if you do this, there has to be a rule.” Her gaze is serious as she peers over at me. “The one and only rule: don’t fall for the bad boy. Under any circumstance, do not let yourself get caught up in all of his charm. It’s a trap, and if you think being hurt by a trust fund fuckboy hurts… imagine having to see Saint around campus, flaunting his prospects in his face. Unbearable. He’s clearly good at winning people over because girls fall for it all the time. Don’t be that girl, Len.”

“Trust me, the last thing I have to worry about is falling for Saint Devereaux. Hell will freeze over before I catch any kind of feelings for itsruler.”

ELEVEN

SAINT

I probably shouldn’t be looking forward to stepping back on the ice with the princess herself as much as I am, but I’d be lying if I said that my dick wasn’t already half-mast at the prospect of seeing just how far I can push her in the next sixty minutes.

I walk into the rink and stop in front of the boards, dropping my hockey bag onto the bleachers. She’s already on the ice, attempting a series of twirls that have the short, bright yellow skirt she’s wearing lifting, revealing the delectable curves of her ass.

I take a front-row seat as I pull out my skates and lace them up, watching her move across the ice like she’s performing only for me.

If she didn’t drive me fucking crazy, I’d entertain the idea of sinking my teeth into her plump little cheeks before I fisted them both in my hands and spread her open, watching how wet she gets from hating me.

Something tells me that Golden Girl would never be able to handle my special kind oftastes, but then again, picturing her on her knees with my cock stretching her throat feels a lot like Christmas morning. Who would’ve thought that prim andproper princess with a stick up her ass and not one for pleasure would have the ability to make my dick hard, but here we are.

A warm, wet hole is a warm, wet hole no matter who it belongs to, apparently.

I watch as she eats shit a handful of times while attempting some type of move that clearly is so far out of reach she’s going to actually break her ankle, for real this time.

She must feel me staring at her because she stops abruptly, the blade of her skate kicking up ice as she comes to a halt.

“Oh, look who’s here.”

Smirking, I grab a handful of pucks from my bag, then get my stick from beside me and step out onto the ice. “Miss me?”

“In your dreams,” she retorts, words heavily laced with disdain.

“Mmm. The funny thing is…” I skate over to where she’s toeing the centerline of the ice and lean forward, dipping my head so close that I could count the freckles that are dusted across her nose and cheeks. “You’re right. You’re in a lot of my dreams, Golden Girl. Wanna hear about ’em?”

Her breath catches, and her mouth falls open, eyes widened as she stares up at me. “You’remuchnicer in them, especially when you’re bent over with your lips wrapped around my di?—”

“Oh my God, you’redisgusting. Shut up.”

The sheer look of shock coating her face has satisfaction rippling through me.

I simply smirk and tap my stick along the ice, “Thought I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. What happened to that? Can’t help yourself?”

She rolls her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest, and I unabashedly let my gaze drop to the swell of her creamy tits that pushes against the leotard she’s wearing before lifting my eyes back to her. “God, I hate you. Have I mentioned that?”

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