Page 39 of Red Zone
The walls are quieter up here. But my thoughts aren’t.
I throw myself onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling until my jaw aches from how tight I’m clenching it.
I should’ve grabbed another drink. Should’ve found someone to distract me, to erase her from my brain for one fucking night.
But no. I came up here instead.
And now I’m hard as hell, pissed off, and still stuck on the girl who walked away wearing my hoodie but is now dancing the night away pressed against some hockey bro like I never existed.
My hand moves without much thought—palm pressing low over the front of my jeans, trying to ease the tension that’s been riding me since she walked into the party.
It doesn’t help.
I shut my eyes.
Try to imagine someone else.
But it’s her I see.
That black top clinging to her skin. The curve of her waist. Her mouth slightly parted as she laughs, eyes locked on mine like she knows exactly what she is doing.
Lyla.
I hiss through my teeth as I unbutton my jeans and slip my hand inside, wrapping my fingers around my throbbing cock.
I picture her climbing onto my lap as I start stroking myself, the way she had that night—how warm and soft she felt, the little sounds she made when I bit her neck, the way she gasped when I reached for her bra clasp and she nodded—barely, but enough to let me know she wanted it too.
My rhythm builds, faster now. I chase the memory, that heat, that high as my balls start tightening, my muscles starting to contract. I relive the way her hips rolled against mine, her fingers gripping my hair like she couldn’t get close enough.
I imagine what it would’ve felt like to finally be inside her. How tight, how wet—fuck.
I come with a quiet groan, my free hand fisting the sheets beside me as my cum covers my lower abdomen.
It takes a second for my body to settle, but when it does, shame follows right after—low and bitter in my gut.
I pull my shirt the rest of the way off and toss it to the side, then get up and head to the bathroom, flipping on the light.
Grabbing a washcloth, I make quick work of cleaning up my own mess.
I toss it into the bin before splashing cold water on my face, trying to rinse off the guilt clinging to my skin.
There’s no way this ends without me getting burned, but that doesn’t stop me from dreaming about a redhead with a sharp tongue all night.
12
LYLA
Isee him leave.
Carter pushes away from the doorway without a word, cutting through the crowd like he’s on a mission. His shoulders are tense, his jaw is tight, and he doesn’t even glance back.
Good.
Let him be mad.
Let him feel even a sliver of what I’ve been trying to shake since I walked out of his room wearing his hoodie, pretending I didn’t care.
“Hey,” Grayson says beside me, voice low. “Wanna get out of here? We could find somewhere quieter. Just chill.”
