Page 24 of Shots & Echoes

Every time I closed my eyes, she was there.

That body, tense and fighting against mine.

That breath, hot on my neck.

Those eyes, daring me to hit harder.

My cock was already hard—pushing against my boxer-briefs, throbbing like a fucking bruise.

I palmed it through the fabric, but even that pissed me off—because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

She wasn’t supposed to be under my skin like this.

But she was.

And now I was fucked.

I swung my legs off the bed, muscles sore from the weights I’d crushed last night trying to work her out of me. Didn’t work. Just made me harder. Just made me angrier.

I stalked to the mirror, jaw tight, scowling at my reflection. Rough stubble. Dark circles under my eyes. The face of a guy who should’ve grown the fuck up by now—but was still chasing ghosts and picking fights with college players.

But she wasn’t just a player.

She was a goddamn firestarter.

And I was already burning for her.

I yanked a shirt over my head; the fabric stretching across my chest, but it didn’t smother the tension crawling under my skin. Didn’t drown out the memory of her—pushing into me, snarling back like she belonged there. Like she wanted it as bad as I did.

I cursed under my breath, fists clenching at my sides.

This was wrong.

But it felt too fucking good.

And that made me hate her.

Almost as much as I wanted her.

This was bad.

Real bad.

But it was too late.

Because I already wanted more.

I yanked the tie tight around my neck; the fabric choking more than it should. My jaw worked against the pressure, teeth grinding as I buttoned the suit jacket like it was armor.

This was just a job.

Serve my time.

Do what my dad expected.

Clean up my fucking mess.

I told myself that over and over, but it didn’t settle the itch under my skin. My pulse was jacked—like I was lacing up for agame. Or gearing up to drop the gloves. And it pissed me off—because this was a meeting.

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