Page 37 of Breakaway Goal

“Because he’s not as hot as any of them.”

I roll my eyes and push myself up from my bed to unpack. A couple minutes after we have everything arranged and settled, Jasmine leaves for a coffee date she has with a guy from one of her classes.

I change into a pair of comfy sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Today, I’ll just stay in and decompress from the craziness of this whole week. When Jasmine comes back, maybe we’llmake the financially irresponsible decision to order delivery instead of going out to a restaurant or the dining hall for dinner.

I close my eyes and nuzzle the back of my head against my pillow.

What a week.

Then, behind my eyes, two tawny golden rings flash—the memory of Rhys’s irises when I was lying on top of him.

Sparks prickle across my skin. My stomach does a flip.

It’s a memory I’ve been rewinding over and over again. Because how could I not?

When I came back to their place later that night, Rhys acted totally normal around me. Like nothing happened. And, well, I guess nothing did.

The idea that he was parting his lips, angling his head forward to … to, what? Kiss me? It’s ridiculous.

He was just moving to stand back up, and it was my own mind interpreting it in a crazy way.

I still can’t forget the way I felt in that moment, though. The sheer, immediate intensity that ripped through my body. The way my blood pumped hot and thick, the thrill in my chest, the throbbing desire between my legs.

Right now, that last sensation is more than just a memory.

I feel the slick wetness between my legs as I roll my thighs together. An ache of want pangs between them. I’ve been so worked up, wound so tight all over, ever since that day with Rhys …

My right hand crawls under the waistband of my shorts as my imagination fills with memories of the week I spent at Rhys’s house.

The day I saw him leaving the bathroom wearing only a towel, his thick dark hair wet from a shower and matted over his brow.

When he posed for me in his room.

When I had him between my legs as I kneaded my fingertips into the warm, dense muscle of his back.

I circle my middle finger around the firm nub of my clit. Pleasure shoots up my spine.

My eyes loll behind my closed lids. I remember the feeling of my tits pressed against his chest, and I try to imagine how it would feel if the shirt I was wearing that day wasn’t in the way.

I try to imagine how it would feel for my sharp, taut nipples to scrape against his tattoo-covered skin.

How it would feel for my soft stomach to graze the sharp outlines of his carved ab muscles.

How it would feel for his big, rough hands to grip the curve of my hip, his calloused fingertips curling into the soft flesh.

“Rhys.” A whimpering moan carries his name from my lips.

I imagine his trim hips settling between my legs, the heft of his throbbing cock grazing up and down my wet slit, teasing me before he …

I bite down on my lip to stifle a louder moan as I slide a finger inside myself, imagining it’s Rhys plunging inside me. But I know he’d be so much bigger, that it would feel so much better, so good that there’s no way I’d be able to keep the moans and sighs of pleasure stifled in my throat like I’m doing now.

Pleasure sizzles through my blood as I work myself toward release. Memories of the sharp peaks, deep valleys, and bulging curves of his physique that I saw in his room hurry me along, causing a knot of pressure deep in my core to expand and throb through my body.

I imagine so vividly him bringing his lips to my ear, rasping my name as he loses himself rutting into me.

The ball of tension inside me erupts, plunging me into an orgasm that has my back arching and my legs shaking.

I breathe a sigh of relief as the aftershocks of my climax wash over me.

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