Page 10 of Girl Going Nowhere

Which is good.

Because this one is more fun to fuck.

And that’s what I do.

The second I slide my cock in, I’m not gentle.

It’s fast.

It’s hard.

It’s sloppy.

Skin slapping.

Curses flying.

Loud grunting.

I’m glad Brodie decided to go on a hunt for pussy tonight because there’s no way he wouldn’t have heard us. His room is right across the hall. And Blake passed out in her room across the apartment hours ago as soon as Maia went down.

It’s probably a good thing that she sleeps like a log as soon as she’s out because Dante is being reckless. Loud. Demanding.

I spread his legs and angle him up further on his knees so I can go deeper, hitting his G-spot with every pump. His hand grips his cock, jerking off as I get him closer to the edge he needs to jump from tonight.

We always say it’s the last time.

But when he shoots his load onto my blankets and sheets, we both know it’s a lie.

And when I thrust into him one last time and empty myself into the condom, I know he’ll sneak in here again within days.

One more time.

It’s a lie we keep telling ourselves to hide the bigger lies we keep from everybody else.

I pull out and drop onto my side with a low grunt, swiping at my sweaty forehead.

He waits a few minutes to catch his breath before getting dressed and walking back out to whatever personal hell he’s created for himself for when the post-orgasmic bliss wears off.

I glance down at my sheets and frown.

I’m going to need to do laundry again.

CHAPTER SIX

Brodie

The office isalways chaotic leading up to the final midnight submission deadlines atSports Pact, which usually leaves everybody on edge. Case in point, the new intern is crying because one of the copy editors got the wrong coffee order. I get it. Caffeine is a necessity when you are hours away from your magazine going live online and three articles short of a full, polished layout.

It makes me grateful that I didn’t procrastinate like I normally do. My article on the upcoming football season, now that the draft is over, was my easiest piece. Although I miss covering baseball, I don’t miss the moral dilemmas I had when my boss told me to feature Dover the Dickhead as the lead-in. As much as I wish Dante switched focuses for Blake’s sake, I get that it’s busy work that feeds his bank account. Since he tends to support his mother too, regardless of my and Finn’s opposition on that, I know he needs the money.

Growing up, I always felt bad for my cousin and the family he was given. His dad was the biggest asshole I knew, and his mother was trauma bound to him no matter how badly he treated her and Dante. It didn’t matter what they did; Anthony Ramirez punished them for it. I hoped my cousin would grow up and distance himself far from both of them beyond taking his mother’s maiden name, but his efforts to get his mom out are endless. Whenever I think he’s successful, the woman goes right back to the man who beat her half to death.

I’ve learned to stop suggesting Dante do anything because he rarely listens. He’ll have to figure it all out on his own, no matter how bad it’ll suck for him.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when a white Styrofoam coffee cup is held out in front of me, with thin, petite fingers wrapped around the middle of it. I know who they belong to as soon as I see the rainbow-colored nails.

Grinning, I look up at Blake and ask, “Did you let Maia play with your nail polish again?”

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