Page 31 of Pocketful of You

Swallowing down a moan, I fisted the hem of his shirt in my hands and pressed my chest flush against his.

My breath was coming hard and fast, nerves and lust threatening to overtake me, and when Sketch fingered one of my curls before raising it to his nose, inhaling my scent, I felt faint again.

Reckless and still buzzed from the punch, I slowly untucked his shirt.

Pulling back enough so that I could watch his reaction, I discreetly slid my hand under the fabric to trace the T-shaped birthmark on his hip.

His eyes rolled shut and his hips thrust against me of their own accord. One of his hands slid from my hip to grip my ass. Hard. "Fuck."

Still swaying against each other to the music, I leaned close and pressed a lingering kiss to the part of his shirt that covered his heart, branding the crisp, white fabric with a red-lipstick stain.

Tightening his hold on my ass, Sketch yanked me closer, grinding his hips against mine, and letting me feel just how much he wasenjoyingthis dance.

I knew we were playing a very dangerous game, right out in the open, with Chris mere feet away, but when his lips landed on my neck, I forgot to care.

But then the song ended.

My breath came out in short, achy puffs.

The people around us stopped dancing.

This was it.

This was it and I wasn’t ready for it to be over.

I wasn’t ready for him to release me.

"If it isn’t my buddy," Cage Hernandez, one of Sketch's teammates, cheered, throwing his arms around us both and somehow managing to pull us apart at the same time. "Dude," he hissed in a much quieter tone. "Chris is right over there."

"I'm…" Sketch's words trailed off and he loosened the bowtie caging him in. Pulling it apart, he let it drape on either side of his neck as he watched me with a storm-ridden expression.

"Come on, dude," his pal said, steering Sketch off the dancefloor. "You need a drink – and a goddamn reality check."

Swinging back, Cage stalked right back to me and hissed, "Don’t you think you screwed that poor bastard up enough already?"

"Wh-what?"

"Go back to his brother, slut," Cage sneered before racing after Sketch. "Yo, Sketch, buddy, wait up!"

Thoroughly humiliated, I took that as my cue to get the hell out of there.

Stopping by our table on my way, I slapped on an extra bright, extra fake smile, snatched up my purse and shawl, and made some mundane excuse about needing some air before rushing for the exit.

Hurrying out of the school gym, I rushed down the hallway and slipped into one of the empty locker rooms.

However, the moment I closed the door behind me, it flew back open, slamming against the wall.

"I should've fucked you when I had the chance." Looking wholly enraged, Sketch stalked towards me, causing my heart to race and my legs to shake. "I should fill you up with my seed right fucking now," he growled, backing me up against the nearest wall. "See what he'd do then." Snaking a hand in my hair, he tugged my neck back, forcing me to look up at him. "Fuck, I'd kill to see the look on that smug prick's face when you're full of my cum."

My breath hitched in my throat as fear, lust, and confusion all slammed into me. "Wh-what?"

"Couldn’t do shit if I knocked you up," he growled moments before hitching my dress up. "No. You'd be all mine."

"Sketch, stop –" Breathing hard and fast, I reached up and cupped his face in my hands. "What the hell are you talking about?"

His brows furrowed, like he too was confused by the question. "Fuck!" he finally roared and it was a deep, guttural sound. "I don’t even know what's happening," he slurred, as he dropped his head on my shoulder. "Can't fucking think straight anymore."

"You're drunk," I agreed, trembling.

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