Page 165 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Right,” I whisper. “You get it.”

“I get it,” he assures me while his hand leaves my hair to move along my back. His touch is comforting, like a lender of support in such a tiresome situation.

“I… filled out the name change forms,” I whisper. “I’m sure it’ll take eons because this is a small town and all, but I decided it would be a good idea to change my name. I don’t want my aunt accessing my money anymore.”

“Oliver noticed,” he admits, which surprises me as I give him a look. “Oliver has multiple positions across Strattonville. One of those includes working with the government. Files that include name change usually pass his eyes before it goes into the system. He escalated the process.”

“He… did?” I’m baffled by that. “Wh-Why?”

“Because he doesn’t like you being taken advantage of,” he replies casually.

“But he doesn’t know me well enough.”

“He doesn’t have to know you well enough to help, Andrews,” he begins. “All he has to do is see you in one instance to have a good feel of who you are as a person. It’s never failed my brother into determining who’s a good person, and who has their own underlying motives. Besides, Oliver may not know every detail about you, but he’s watched you from afar. Just like Leo. They worry about you in their own way, and I guess this is Oliver’s way of helping you out of a bad situation, which he’s never approved of but didn’t have the power to change.”

“That’s… nice of him,” I admit. “Not a lot of nice people who are willing to help like that.”

“It’s only because this world has changed to be more worried about money and the greed of power than having morals and supporting one another as we aim to achieve what’s destined for us,” he admits. “Sucks but doesn’t mean there aren’t still good people around.”

“You’re really knowledgeable,” I point out. “It’s kind of hot.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t turn me on with compliments, Andrews,” he groans. “We’re already late for the day. We can’t fuck.”

“You’d fuck me?” That has my actual attention.

The mere mention of fucking is making my nipples far too hard. Don’t even get me started on how my pussy is quaking.

He holds off from answering right away. I can see his train of thought through his expression, but they don’t show any signs of disgust. It’s like he’s thinking very carefully about how to word it correctly.

“I want to fuck you, Kenzie,” there’s his quiet voice while his hand moves down my back until it’s lightly gripping my ass. “But I want to do it the right way.”

“The right way?”

“Slow. Precious. Kiss you with loads of passion. Lick and bite your flesh as though it’s our last supper. I want to make love to you, Andrews. Again and again and again, until dawn’s rays wash over your naked flesh and reveal all the marks I’ve left in the wake of our frisky night.”

I’ve never been more emotionally moved by words alone.

Until now.

“It’s going to be hard when you’re so damn tempting, though,” he admits more to himself than anything.

“M-Me? Tempting?” I’m blushing now before I turn so I’m laying on my stomach on top of him. “I don’t know about that one.”

“You don’t see yourself as one who can make a whole room stop in whatever they’re doing just to acknowledge your presence?” he questions.

“I’ve never thought of myself as having such capabilities,” I earnestly reply. “When you’re always compared and deemed too masculine to have that power over anyone, let alone the opposite sex… well…” I pause and look into his eyes. “You end up believing it.”

“Then stop believing such crap,” he whispers. “Prove to them that you can command the room if you really wanted to.”

The intensity in our gaze is palpable, but I’m still absorbing the fact he’s so supportive of me.

How he wants to see me succeed in every avenue.

I’m really starting to believe that my standards of men were far too low. That the past were boys who saw something shiny they didn’t want anyone else to have.

“You really think I can.”

---