Page 52 of Overtime
“You’re fucking evil.” I fumble around and feel for the remote again, cranking it up to just shy of the last setting.
I slide my hand between us, finding the hard little disc and press it flush against her clit until she starts to quiver. I need her to come because this version of her on the edge isn’t something I can withstand. Not when she’s writhing on my lap and promising me anything I want. I refuse to lose though. In the long term, I know I will. I realize that much now. But I have to at least pretend like I can hold my ground against her.
She moans and buries her face into my shoulder. Her body is shaking as she comes hard, too overwhelmed to hold it off any longer. When her grip on my arm loosens, I release the pressure. Reaching over and turning the vibrator off as I hear her take a deep breath, seeking the oxygen she’s denied herself buried against my skin. I slide my hand over her hip and up her bare back, tracing the long line of her spine. Because if I have the opportunity to touch her—I’m taking it.
Her face is still pressed against me when I feel her hand move, searching in between us and going to the waistband of the joggers I have on. I’m still so hard and desperate for her to do anything—touch me, suck me, fuck me—I literally don’t care what it is as long as she’s involved, and she calls the game first. But she doesn’t say a word as her fingers start to slip under the fabric, and I grab her wrist.
“You have to say the magic words first.”
“Let me make you come?” She grins against my shoulder.
“Ha. The real ones.”
“Farm Boy, you made the fatal error of letting me come first.”
“By design.”
She sits back and studies my face. “You’re really this determined?”
I stay silent but give her a smug smile in return, one I don’t really feel right now because I’m still desperate for her.
“You don’t want me to touch you?”
“We agreed. It was your idea if I remember right.” I raise a brow at her, bluffing my way through this. She watches me, her eyes locking with mine for a moment and then drifting over my face down to my lips.
“Fine…” She frowns. “I’m not caving on thewholething. But I’m caving on one part of it. I want to kiss you.”
“So you can torture me some more?”
“No. Because I miss it. I miss you.”
The simple words twist the organ inside my chest, and I nod without considering the consequences. She leans forward, her lips brushing over mine in soft teasing strokes. She tastes like the lemonade she’s been drinking while she works, sweet with just that touch of sourness. I miss her. The realization floods every sense I have—the smell of her conditioner, the feel of her lips on mine, the way she tastes, the little way she flicks her tongue over my lower lip to tease me.
I go under her spell. Kissing her back like I’m desperate to feel her again and getting dragged under by the touch of her lips against mine. I run my fingers along the edge of her jaw and slip them back into her hair as I push it back from her face. She melts into me like she’s been starving for this kind of affection and missing it for far too long. It’s all too-fucking-much. Reminding me of what I had and lost. Wishing I could take it back and lie to her then like I’m lying to her now.
Maybe I would have never lost her in the first place if I’d been able to pretend I can just fuck her and not feel. If it means I get another taste, another touch out of her—one more chance to feel like this—I’d take it. Even if it means it all burns down in the end.
A moment later she pulls back, looking dazed and almost drunkenly happy as she smiles at me, and I stand us both up and give her a swift pat on the ass before I say something stupid too soon.
“We should get packed up and get some food.”
She blinks, like she’s coming to and nods her agreement to my plan. “Right.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Joss
“He’s goingto die when he sees that.” Violet shakes her head at the fact I’m wearing a Westfield jersey as I sit next to them in the box for the Thursday night game.
“It’s not her fault. Tobias made it a condition of letting her have the ticket to sit with us up here,” Harper defends me.
“She could have just asked Colt for one,” Violet argues.
“Colt doesn’t have any because his family never comes, and he doesn’t date,” I say, watching as the man launches a throw downfield that Ben catches and takes off with, being tackled just short of the end zone. I assume this is still a good thing when the entire crowd goes wild over the play.
Violet pauses to scream and clap for her man and then turns back to me, raising an eyebrow and giving me a look like I’m dense.
“He’s the fucking quarterback. He could say he wants ten tickets, and they’d find a way, Joss. You’re baiting him, and you know it.”
