Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Beck drags a hand down his face like he wants to wipe away today. “I . . . was . . . jealous. Just stupidly jealous.”
“Yeah, I’d say. So, I ask again. Is that what you want in a person?”
He meets my gaze. “No. I said it because I wanted you to . . .”
“Wanted me to what?” I challenge.
“I wanted you to feel what you’re missing,” he fires off, full of hurt and anger.
Same here. “You think I don’t? You think I don’t feel what I’m missing every fucking day? Every time we text? Every time I see you? You really think I don’t feel it?”
In the foyer, I stare at the other quarterback, anger, and lust feeding me. But something deeper too. Something that comes from the last few weeks of talking, texting, and not touching.
Beck huffs. “I feel it all the time with you. Every damn second.” He steps closer, maybe, just maybe, putting down the weapons for a second as he confesses, “I want you. So fucking much.”
I heat up in an instant. Screw jealousy. “Want you too,” I say, then grab the front of his shirt, yank him against me, and kiss him so hard he better forget every other man, woman, and person in existence.
I kiss him so I can forget he’s a bigger risk than playing a brutal game for a living.
But mostly, I kiss him for me. So I can remember again how it feels to slam into the man I want. It’s been too long without his touch. More than three weeks since that night, and years have passed in those twenty-four days.
As I crush his lips, I do my damnedest to commit every detail of his kiss to memory. So I can recall it tomorrow in the shower. So I can relive it alone in my bed.
The slide of his soft hair in my fingers.
The outdoorsy smell of his aftershave.
The tempting taste of his lips.
Most of all, the way I feel with Beck Cafferty.
Electrified.
This is want. This is thirst. And I will quench it tonight.
We’re rough and demanding. Hands grabbing. Lips smashing. Voices grunting.
Beck yanks on my hair, jerking me impossibly closer. I clutch at his shirt, tugging him firmly against me. We overbalance and stumble, break apart for a second. Panting hard, I glance around. A bed? A couch? But fuck it. The bedroom’s too far. Everything’s too far but him.
He reads me instantly. Pushes my chest, slamming me up against his front door.
Have me, Beck. Manhandle me.
As his lips seal to mine once more, his strong hands claw at my shirt, my chest, my arms.
He’s got me up against the door, and I am here for this.
Beck takes the lead. He’s ravenous, biting my lips, sucking on my tongue, and unzipping my jeans. He doesn’t even bother to push the denim down, just dives his hand into my boxer briefs and grabs my cock.
He hisses as he wraps a hand around my dick. A wicked vibration rattles my entire body, and I break the kiss to mutter, “Fuck, yes.”
When I look at Beck, he’s already staring at me, fire in his eyes, determination in his jaw. He strokes me with obscene purpose as he watches me intently.
I’m dying to kiss him again, but the pleasure . . . the indecent pleasure of his hand on my dick is driving me out of my mind.
I’m shaking with lust.
He slides his palm up and down my shaft, then rubs his thumb over the head, lubing me up with my arousal.
“God, that’s so fucking good,” I groan.
He grips me tighter like my cock is his fantasy come true.
It’s crazy to think that. But that’s how Beck touches me. Like I’m his fantasy.
I huff out a breath. “You,” I murmur. “Need you.”
“Have me,” Beck answers, and I heed the call. I grapple with his jeans, undoing the button, then unzipping.
For a necessary second, we both stop. He eases his jeans to the top of his thighs. I do the same with mine. When our dicks are free, we crash into each other.
“Ahhh,” he mutters as our cocks rub together. “This feels so good, Jason. So fucking good.”
“I know. I know,” I repeat. Everything about the way we touch excites me, and I need as much as I can get.
No. I need more.
My hands fly to his ass. I squeeze his cheeks as we grind together.
His mouth finds mine again in a deliciously sloppy kiss.
“More, give me more,” he grunts, and I give him everything. I knead his ass, bite his collarbone, rub against his dick.
Then shove my hands between us to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, getting two undone. “Off. Get this off,” I order.
He yanks his button-down over his head in a split second, and before I know it, my shirt is hitting the floor too.