Page 65 of The Comeback Pact

The water splashes up to my knees as I stay steady, and for a moment, I thank my training so I can take her like this. She’s completely malleable in my hands, dependent on me.

Sweat slides down my spine in rolling drops. Despite the slight chill in the air as we lose daylight, my body is a furnace. Pleasure climbs higher and higher as well as the volume of the tiny cries escaping Kenna’s mouth. It’s the only reaction to something I’ve done that I want to hear for the rest of my life.

Suddenly, her knees clamp around either side of me, her body locking up.

“Yes!” she cries, and my dick answers. As soon as she starts to spasm, cum shoots from my tip. I bury myself inside her, and we cling to one another, our bodies finding that immeasurable pleasure at the same time.

My cock empties, and I groan into her neck. She shifts her head, nudging me so our lips meet. We kiss around quick breaths, our tongues twisting and colliding.

As our heartbeats return to normal, she breaks contact, pressing soft kisses up my jaw until she teases my earlobe. “Holy shit, West Brooks.”

I smile. My sentiments exactly.

Kenna and I have come together like fire and ice. I’ve melted her, showing her the real me until we both burn brightly, but none brighter than when we’re connected like this.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Kenna

I squeezepast the door into my room, closing it quietly behind me while I stare at West’s large form in my bed. We brought the picnic back to my place last night. We ate cheese, crackers, M&Ms, and Goldfish with only the light of a candle I got on clearance. The smell of fall wafted around us as we told secrets with our mouths full, fell into one another’s arms again and again, and then finally slept side by side.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this full.

West shifts in bed, staring up at me while I wait by the door. He blinks, his gaze searching the room. “What time is it?”

“You still got time,” I tell him, finally moving over to the bed.

He sits up, running his hands through his hair and shirking the covers away. Rummaging through the bag, he pulls out his phone and holds down the power button.

“When is your first class?” I ask.

“Ten, but I have a football meeting at nine.”

“Oh,” I tease, voice dropping. I widen my eyes in shock, but I can’t hold back my sly smile. His gaze shoots to mine, and my lips tug higher. “Just kidding.”

“That wasn’t very funny.”

“It depends on if you’re you. Or me.”

He shakes his head, his stare taking me in. “I’ll be making you pay for that later.”

I’m about to tell him that I’ll probably like whatever punishment he’ll come up with when his phone starts going crazy. Vibrations and short tones sound off one after the other. We both peer down at it. “Mr. Popular.”

His forehead wrinkles. Shoulders bunching, he scrolls through some texts and stills. Then he scrolls some more. I see him click on a link, and it cuts to a news anchor talking in front of a desk. In the background, a screen is playing, showing the Hamilton football players dressed in their jerseys with no pads. My heart immediately races. This is about the feud. About homecoming. All I see are a bunch of jocks jumping up and down until the raw camera footage pans some more, and I spot a scruffy guy standing there, staring intently into the lens.

West shoots off the bed, his fists clenching his phone. For a moment, I think he’s squeezing it so hard it rings, but it’s just a call coming in. Before I can even ask what’s going on, West growls and then answers the call. “Coach.”

I can’t hear what his coach is saying, but West starts to pace. All the tension in his muscular frame that had loosened yesterday is back. He doesn’t talk into the phone. He doesn’t even look at me. After about thirty seconds, he hangs up without even saying goodbye.

“What is going on?” I finally ask, standing on my feet. I don’t give a shit about football theatrics, but I do care about West. I don’t understand his reaction.

His jaw ticks. He’s so angry, it’s as if he takes up all the space in the room. “My dad.”

“Your…dad? What about him?”

A frustrated groan rips from his mouth, and he circles around the room before grabbing his bag and almost tearing my bedroom door off the hinges on his way outside. He’s already to his truck when I decide to follow after, hugging myself. There’s a chill in the morning air, and I’m only wearing a T-shirt and capris. I start to shake, little trembles that’s as much from the cutting breeze as it is from nerves.

I’ve never seen West like this before. His family is a touchy subject that he’s discussed with me, but from what I know, he doesn’t have anything to do with his dad and little even to do with his mom.

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