Page 71 of The Pass Protection
The guys all retreated to their rooms at my insistence. I can’t cook so the least I could do was clean up. But as I was bending down to pick up the last piece of clothing, I caught a whiff of myself and shivered.
I headed to the shower and peeled out of my clothes. For the next thirty minutes, I stood under the hot spray and let the water wash away the night before. I lingered longer than usual as I savored the burn against my skin, hoping the water would absorb in my very dehydrated body.
Freshly showered and feeling somewhat better, I padded back to the living room, where the guys had emerged from their rooms. All three of them were in their self-designated spots. Sports drinks lined the coffee table, all of us needing the extra electrolytes. Settling on thecouch between Tyler and Crew, I reached for a blanket on the back of the sofa. I cozied into my spot as JP queued upThe Boys, keeping his promise of bingeing the show together.
Hours and almost a whole season later, our bodies are molded into the cushions. Aside from some of the gruesome details, the show isn’t half bad. After being introduced to The Deep in the show and seeing Tyler dressed as him last night, I clutched my stomach from laughing so hard. The character is self-assured, insanely cocky, and somewhat comically pathetic.
The sun has long since set and the golden hue has transitioned into darkness, the only light coming from the glow of the TV. JP dozed off a while ago, his soft snores are occasionally heard in the show’s quiet moments. Tyler, who is curled up in the corner of the sectional, rests his head on a pillow opposite us as he watches the show. His eyes occasionally droop as everyone still feels the effects of last night.
With everyone else preoccupied, Crew and I have slowly erased the gap between us. His thick thigh rests against my bare skin. A thrill runs through me with each brush of his arm against mine. With a subtle glance at him from my periphery, I notice the slight smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. Carefully, and oh so smoothly, his fingertips run down my hip and underneath the waistband of my boy shorts. The fluffy throw blanket is a shield, keeping his movements concealed from wandering glances.
With a slight squirm, I wiggle my hips to help him get to my aching center. His soft touches allow for the unspoken connection between us to become electric. Two fingers run down my slit as I feel my arousal coat his digits. My heart races as desire coils low in my belly. I fight the urge to throw caution to the wind and straddle his thick thighs and the erection pressing against the mesh of his shorts.
Crew keeps running his fingers up and down my wetness as I struggle to keep from squirming. It feels so damn good to be touched by him and the risk of getting caught only intensifies the moment. I never considered myself an exhibitionist, but the more we sneak around and risk getting caught, the more I want to test those boundaries. Fighting to keep my attention on the show before me, my vision blurs as I focus on his strong fingers.
How is he keeping his attention straight ahead and with a straight face?
The struggle to breathe is real as my heart rate intensifies. Crew gathers my arousal until his fingers are coated before bringing the wetness to my clit. Working my nub in circular motions causes my body to respond. Chills run down my spine as my nipples harden to almost painful peaks. The urge to touch them grows as my fingers itch to soothe the ache.
Everything fades away, leaving just the two of us in our own electrified bubble. As he strokes my sensitive bundle of nerves, his masculine smell invades my senses and the urge to straddle his lap intensifies.
I want him. I need him. The intensity of my craving for Crew Riggsby is almost overwhelming.
My fists clench as my fingernails leave little crescent moons indented in my skin.
The orgasm continues to build with each scrape, pinch, and pull. I fight to keep control so our cover isn’t blown, but the more he works me, the harder it is to fight the desire threatening to take hold of me.
As if he knows what’s about to happen, Crew rubs faster against my clit as he applies more pressure.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.I repeatedly chant the words in my head, fighting the urge to scream from the delicious feeling.
I can’t fight the orgasm any longer as my body shutters in release. At the same time, something jarring happens on the screen, causing Tyler to jump. My jerky movements as I came were timed perfectly, as if I was jumping with the show.
Crew Riggsby is a genius—a perfectly timed sex god.
The rise and fall of my chest start to slow as my body floats back down from where my soul shattered with that mind-blowing orgasm. With one last swipe of his fingers, Crew removes his hands from my pants. I watch from the corner of my eyes as he subtly brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks my arousal.
Holy. Shit.
Leaves crunch as I walk along the cobblestone paths from the football facility to the quad. The crisp morning air stings my hot cheeks as I adjust my cap and pull my hoodie tighter against my exposed neck. Texas still doesn’t feel like the fall I’m used to but the morning air is crisp for CTU.
As I get closer to the academic buildings, the campus is slowly coming to life. This morning’s practice was grueling, which I knew it would be. Coach made sure we worked out all the alcohol in our systems from this weekend by sweating it out through our pores. I was thoroughly drenched and smelled terrible. Thank God for locker room showers. My muscles ache from the weekend’s partying and rotting away on the couch all day yesterday. Factor in this morning’s drills, and I feel like I was battling a freight train.
Laughter filters around me as I pass a group of people. One of the guys gives me a nod. “Nice game, Saturday.”
“Thanks, man.” I jerk my head up in the same motion. The feeling of being basically a celebrity on campus always catches me off guard.
As I climb the steps to the business building, I scan the faces, looking for a tall, black-haired beauty. Our class schedule is similar, and since we both major in business, the odds of running into each other are high. When I don’t spot her immediately, I move down the hall for my first class of the day—Agriculture Marketing.
I pull open the door to the small lecture hall, slipping into a seat near the middle. Our professor is already in the room getting his items arranged for class. Reaching inside my bag, I do the same as I pull out my laptop and a notebook. Removing the pen from the spirals, I twirl it around my fingers, patiently waiting for class to start. Other students file in and sit as the room buzzes with chatter. Professor Ramirez clears his throat as silence falls over the room.
“Good Monday morning!” he enthusiastically greets. “Today, we’ll be discussing the latest trends in agri-marketing strategies. By a show of hands, how many of you have heard of precision agriculture?”
A few hands go up, and while I know what it is, I hate being called on to explain things. Words can be tricky for me. While I’m smart, words get jumbled from my brain to my mouth.
Professor Ramirez calls on a girl in the front. “Precision agriculture involves using technology, like GPS and remote sensing, to optimize field-level management regarding crop farming. It’s about increasing efficiency and yield by understanding the variability within a field.”
“Exactly.” He claps. Professor Ramirez is very passionate about agriculture, which is evident in his mannerisms. “How do you think this can be marketed to consumers?”
