Page 117 of Small Town Firsts

I just about come in my pants when I catch a glimpse of her full tits encased in lavender lace. “Are you trying to kill me?” I croak out the words, blatantly ogling her chest.

“Noooo.” She draws out the word. “I’m trying to fuck you.”

Before I can recover to reply, she’s unfastening her skirt and sliding it down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her matching lingerie set and tall, black socks. Her attire, much like her, is the perfect contradiction. Sugar and spice, and oh my goddamn, everything nice.

She’s tough as nails but still soft and vulnerable. She’s an open book and an enigma. She’s rough edges and a soft center. And she’s all fucking mine.

And right now, she’s sinking to her knees, looking up at me like she wants to swallow me whole.Who the hell am I to deny her?I move to undo my belt, but she knocks my hands out of the way. “Let me.” She expertly unbuckles it before sliding the leather through the loops, pulling it off entirely. She fumbles a bit with the double closure of my khakis, but still gets them undone and pushed down in what has to be record time.

The minute her warm, wet mouth envelops me, I start reciting golf stats in my head to keep this ecstasy from ending too soon. But it’s no use. My girl works me like a pro, and all too soon, I’m tapping her cheek to let her know I’m about to blow so she can pull away. But true to her nature, Abby Jane keeps going, sucking me down until I have nothing left to give.

She licks her lips and hums as she pulls away, and I swear, my knees go a little weak. “You are so fucking perfect.” I offer her my hand and help pull her to standing before mashing my lips to hers, loving the way I taste on her tongue.

I walk us back toward my bed until her thighs hit my mattress. Knowing exactly what I want, Abby Jane crawls up onto my bed, situating herself in the center. I kiss my way up her body, starting at the top of her tall socks, pausing in all the right places until she’s worked up to panting, and I’m ready to go again.

We spend what feels like hours lost in each other’s bodies, and while it’s certainly not anywhere near our first time, something’s different. We’re less fevered. We both take our time, exploring and touching. I learn that if I tug the metal in her nipples while I’m inside her, it’s a hot-button guaranteed to set her off like a bomb. And she learns that raking her teeth over my hipbone is a surefire way to get me hard enough to split wood.

We’re insatiable, and I fucking love it…I love her.

Oh fuck.

I totally fucking love Abby Jane Adams. Like,take my balls and nail them to the wall because I’m so lost over this girllove her. The question is, does she feel the same?

CHAPTER 21

AJ

It’s beena few weeks since our golf date—slash—mind-bending, life-changing, record-setting sex-a-thon. Though, if I’m being honest, it was so much more than sex…for me, at least. That afternoon, Brock Larson moved mountains and broke down every wall that surrounded my heart.

It was also the day I realized I was head over fucking heels in love with him.

Only, since then he’s been sketch-city—acting cagey as hell. He says it’s because his coach has upped their practices from fifteen to twenty hours a week. And that’s on top of his volunteer hours, classes, and private sessions.

So, I get that he’s crazy busy, but none of that explains why he’s on his phone more than usual or why he’s been so tense and stressed. For once my heart and my brain aren’t at war; my emotional side says he’s hiding something from me, and my logical side fucking agrees.

He’s blown off our last two study sessions, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he canceled our plans for tonight either. I keep trying to reassure myself that we’re fine, but with us hardly talking, the nagging feeling in my gut won't shut up. It screamsthat I’m losing him. That shit got too serious, and he’s distancing himself from me—from us—and dammit, it hurts.

In need of a second opinion, I text Stacia.

Me

Come over. Please.

Me

911.

Stacia

Give me fifteen. Love you. Will bring coffee.

I’m wearing a trail through the living room rug when Stacia lets herself in, just a short knock announcing her arrival. “What’s wrong, AJ?”

“Nothing.” I pace back and forth. “Everything. I don’t know.”

Stacia moves farther into the room and sets the two beverages she’s holding onto the coffee table before plopping down onto my couch. She pats the seat beside her. “Come. Let’s talk. I don’t like seeing this stressy-messy side of you.”

I let out a deep sigh and take a seat next to her. She promptly hands me an extra-large iced coffee, which I greedily suck down, hoping an extra dose of caffeine will soothe all that ails me.

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