Page 66 of Enticing the Enforcer
And maybe that’s the real point. This isn’t staged, or polished, or carefully controlled. It’s raw, unfiltered. Ours.
“You want to finish this here or head back home?” I ask her. If she’s down for a dirty fuck in the alley behind the Den, who am I to stop her?
Her hand slides down the front of my pants and she squeezes my erection, “Jefferson, please take me home.”
21
Ingrid
The walkacross campus feels endless, every shadowed corner another temptation. Jefferson can’t keep his hands off me, and I don’t want him to. Every time we pause, his palm slides under my shirt, fingers teasing skin, or he presses his hard, insistent cock into my stomach until I’m gasping, desperate. By the time we cut across the quad, I’m clinging to him, dizzy from lust.
“What would you do in a normal situation like this?” I ask, trying to catch my breath as we start up a path toward the center of campus. “With a girl who isn’t famous. With no gossip sites waiting to post photos of us in a compromising situation.”
He slows, thinking on it. Like this man isseriouslythinking about it. Then he looks at me with that crooked grin that makes me melt. “Follow me.”
We veer off diagonally down a short hill. At the bottom stands a modern-looking building, all glass and steel.
“Welcome to Wittmore’s student center,” he says, pushing open the door like he owns the place.
Inside, the building is quiet, humming with the faint buzz of vending machines and overhead lights. “It’s open twenty-four hours.” He points to the shuttered food court. “That’s where everyone goes between classes. The coffee shop,” he gestures toward a separate little alcove, “where Reese shoved his tongue down Twyler’s throat for the first time.”
I laugh, imagining always-in-control Reese in a scene like that.
“There’s a movie theater, the store where you can get books and sweatshirts and keychains…” Jefferson takes my hand and leads me down a long flight of stairs, then a hallway lined with locked doors. He stops in front of one, glances back at me.
“What’s this?”
“Room 110.”
“What’s room 110?”
He punches in an access code on a keypad. The lock clicks, and he pushes the door open.
“The athletic tutoring and study room,” he says. Then his grin goes wicked. “But the more popular use is for a quickie.”
I blink at him. “On campus?”
“Yep.” He pulls me inside and shuts the door with a solid click. “During the day, night, whenever the urge strikes.” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “Obviously.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s college, Angel. Especially when you’re one of the chosen ones.” He winks. “A D1, varsity athlete.”
Before I can roll my eyes at him, his mouth is on mine, hot and urgent, licking my lips open for access. His hands frame my face, then trail down, tugging at my shirt, already greedy for skin.
“Jefferson–” I try to breathe, but he swallows my words, kissing me deeper, hungrier.
In the next moment, he lifts me, setting me down on the desk at the center of the room. The surface creaks under the sudden weight. His body slots between my thighs, his cock hard against me, and I whimper at the pressure.
“I can’t keep my hands off of you, Ingrid,” he groans, dragging his mouth down my neck, teeth scraping at the soft skin. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”
His hands are everywhere, squeezing my tits through my shirt, kneading my thigh, slipping higher, higher. He pulls my top up, baring me, and yanks my bra down until my nipples are pebbled in the cool air. His head dips, tongue flicking, lips closing over me.
The moan that escapes me is shameless. My fingers twist in his hair, holding him there as he sucks and bites, lavishing attention on each breast until my back arches off the desk.
“You taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, glancing up, mouth wet, eyes wild.
“You’ve dreamed about this?” My voice trembles.
