Page 62 of Pretty Threats

“No,” I scoff. “Three times is not regular. What were the special circumstances?”

“I was hanging out in a group, and we ended up in a place where there were pretty women who specialized in certain things the other guys wanted.”

“War and Jamie?”

“No comment.”

“Did you like it?”

“It was all right. The women weren’t really my type.”

The memory surfaces of his ordering me to stay naked even while in the living room. He has fantasies. Most assuredly dark ones. “What is your type?”

“You.”

“Me, huh?” That makes my buzzed brain smile. “Me, even though… I don’t specialize in anything wild?”

“You specialize in… being you.”

“Yes. We all specialize in that,” I say with a wink. Outwardly, I’m making light of things, but my insides are melting.

As someone shakes Killian’s hand and congratulates him on being on the rowing team, I overhear a pair of guys talking about an after party at the Lambda Delta house.

“We should probably go,” I say softly when we’re alone again. “I’m supposed to be working but I haven’t been.” Blowing a tendril of hair out of my face, I tilt my head. “Unless you want to go home?”

Killian leans close. “What I want is to fuck you.”

My eyes widen.

“Afterward, we can do whatever you want.” His hand catches my wrist and pulls me away from the party and out a door.

“Where are we?” I whisper.

“On the side of the house.” His hands lift my skirt, and I grab his wrists to slow him down.

“Outside a frat house?” I murmur. “Should we?”

Despite my grip on them, his hands continue to rise until the fabric of my dress is bunched around my waist.

“Hold your dress,” he says, but I don’t.

When he lets go, the fabric falls onto his forearms as he’s pulling my underwear down. He lowers himself far enough to take each of my feet out of the panties. He shoves them in a pocket as he stands. This time when he yanks the dress up, his voice is rough.

“Better get your dress out of my way, Raine, or I’ll tear it off and you can wear nothing but my suit jacket back to the car.”

I draw in a startled breath. “That’s not happening.” But deep down, my insides knot in anticipation.

“It could.” He shoves the dress into my hands.

My fingers clutch the fabric in a shaky grip. “No. And I’m not sure?—”

Ignoring my protest, he takes his cock out and rolls a condom onto it. Then he grabs and lifts me. “Legs around my waist,” he orders.

I obey.

The brick scratches me as he pins me against the wall, and I grimace. “Ow.”

“Hang on.”

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