Page 67 of Faking the Shot
She nods, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with want.
I pull her shirt over her head and toss it aside, sucking in a breath at the sight of her. She’s wearing a lace bra, the kind that’s more about teasing than covering, and it’s doing a hell of a job.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my hands moving to cup her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.
She arches into my touch, her head falling back as a soft moan escapes her lips.
I lean forward, my mouth finding her neck, then her collarbone, before finally wrapping around one of her nipples. I suck gently at first, then harder, my teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
“Kaden,” she moans, her hips starting to move against me.
Hearing my name like that—breathy, desperate—almost undoes me. My cock is rock hard, straining against the fabric of my pants, and every roll of her hips is driving me closer to the edge.
I pull back just enough to look at her, her hair a wild mess, her lips swollen from our kisses. “Valentina,” I murmur, my voice thick with need, “I want to be inside you so fucking bad.”
“I want you too,” she whispers, her hands sliding up my chest.
She leans down to kiss me again, her movements growing bolder as she grinds against me. I want to take her right here, on the floor, but I also don’t want to rush this. Not with her.
“Let’s move this to the bed,” I rasp, already planning how I’ll worship every inch of her.
But for now, I let her take her time. She’s driving me crazy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I grab her pants, and she takes the hint, lifting her hips and pushing them off in one swift motion. Then her hands are on my waistband, shoving my sleep pants down, leaving absolutely nothing between us. Nothing.
The realization must hit her at the same time it hits me.
“Kaden, go get a condom,” she says, her breathless voice snapping me out of my trance.
I freeze, the gravity of my stupidity sinking in. The last box of condoms I owned had been sitting in my drawer for so long theyexpired. I threw them out, and since I never bring women to my place, I haven’t replaced them.
“I don’t have any,” I admit, my teeth clenching with frustration.
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean, you don’t have any? How can you not have condoms?”
“I forgot to buy more.” Even to my own ears, it sounds like the weakest excuse ever uttered.
“I like you a lot,” she says, sitting up slightly and pulling away from me, “but we’re not at the no-protection level yet.”
“Of course, I know that,” I nod, my mind racing as I glance at the clock.
“Go get some?” she asks, a hopeful tone creeping into her voice.
It’s late, but there’s a twenty-four hour store a couple of blocks away. It’ll be fast.
“Stay ready for me,” I say, scooping her up and setting her gently on the couch. Her hair is a tousled halo, her body a picture of temptation. “I’ll be right back.”
I yank my pants and shirt back on, shove my feet into sneakers, and sprint out the door, shouting over my shoulder, “Don’t go anywhere.”
The two blocks to the store feel like a marathon. My mind chants a single word with each pounding step: condoms, condoms, condoms.
When I burst into the store, the clerk behind the counter looks startled—probably thinking I’m about to rob the place.
“Sorry, man, in a rush,” I say, trying for a disarming smirk as I jog up to the counter.
He doesn’t relax until I point at the shelf behind him. “Pack of condoms, please.”
The guy grins knowingly. “Got a hot one waiting on you, huh?”
