Page 60 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)

One of the cheerleaders, a junior whose name I can’t remember.

She grins at me. Any other time, it’d be on. A little flirting, some tension, and a quick fuck. Mind-blowing for them, but fast nonetheless. I don’t have time to cuddle after, you know?

Now, my dick doesn’t even twitch. I shrug her off and continue on, slightly annoyed with myself. I could go back and mess with what’s-her-face, just to prove to myself that I can… but what’s the point?

“Good game, guys,” Ian calls to us. Like he wasn’t being scolded in the locker room not an hour ago for his abysmal performance.

I wave at him.

Caleb rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply.

Liam would’ve taken the bait, but he’s already in the next room. Good thing, too. The last thing Ian’s ugly face needs is a broken nose.

“What’s the deal with you and that girl?” Caleb asks me, tipping his head back in Riley’s direction.

It’s one of those things we’ve avoided talking about, but he chooses now to ask me. And I can’t even come up with a solid answer, because I don’t fucking know.

“Nothing,” I say.

Someone cranks the music, saving me from any further inquisition.

We get drinks and fend off people wanting to talk to us, congratulate us. Ian slings his arm over Caleb’s shoulders, giving him a hard grin. Those two have a weird relationship that I want no part of—sometimes I think they hate each other, other times they’re fine. Either way, it’s none of my business.

I slip away.

It’s no surprise that I end up in the same room as Riley.

She turns, maybe sensing my presence, and frowns.

“Not happy to see me?” I call.

She grimaces. “No. Did you shower after the game? I can smell you from here.”

“Mighty personal to be asking those sort of questions,” I answer, sauntering closer. Getting near her is like touching a lightbulb—you know it’s going to burn, but there’s a chance it won’t. “Some say sweat is a turn-on.”

Her nose wrinkles.

“No? Guess you’ve never been down and dirty with a guy licking—”

“Stop.” She holds up her hand.

I grin. “I should’ve known you were a prude.”

“I’m not,” she snaps. “No one wants to hear about your sexual exploits.”

“Who said we were talking about me?” I step closer.

She shivers, even though it’s a thousand degrees in this room. The little baby hairs around her face are plastered to her skin.

“No, we were talking about your pussy, and the tongues that have touched it. Made you squirm as they pumped their fingers into you and felt you come.”

Her face is beet red, and it brings unexpected pleasure.

I can envision her writhing under me—

“You can’t just say that in public,” she hisses.

“No one is listening to us,” I argue.

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