Page 72 of Fly Boy
“Because I make you feel young again.”
Rolling her over, I lie on top of her. “Such”—I nip her throat—“a”—I part my lips around the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder—“brat.” And I suck hard.
She gasps, the sound morphing from shock to a moan, her pelvis lifting slightly to rub against me.
I release her with an obnoxious pop, her skin slick from my tongue. A faint bruise has already started to form, the sight making the caveman that was once dormant inside me come to life.
It’s predatorial.
It’s claiming.
It’s mine.
“I still want to know,” she says, reaching up to run her fingers over the mark.
“Freshman year.”
“Of college?”
My face screws up. “Of high school.”
Her mouth drops open. “What the hell? That young?”
I shrug a shoulder, unbothered. “I was one of those older kids in the grade. I turned fifteen while some were turning fourteen. Besides, I played varsity football, so I was kind of a big deal. She was a cheerleader in the year above me...”
“And was it your ego that stopped you from getting that NFL deal?”
“It was getting my dick wet and chasing skirt that stopped me from that dream. As soon as I lost my virginity, I was more interested in girls.”
“And did any of these girls win the heart of the wanna-be football star?”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s with the twenty questions about my life?”
“I enjoy history. The olden days are fascinating,” she deadpans before breaking out into a grin, the let's-get-into-trouble kind of grin I cannot resist.
I capture her mouth with mine, our tongues dueling in the same way our words do—teasing and flirting, the cheekiness of the girl below me coming through her kiss. She’s pliant, letting me taste her the way Ineedto before giving her another piece of me. Letting her in the way she’s clearly dying to be.
I wrench myself away from her, confusion mixes with the glazed look of lust in her gray eyes. Rolling off her and onto my back, I stare up at my ceiling, unfamiliar nerves lining my stomach as I prepare myself to open my heart, letting her know the real me.
“I’ve never had more than a one-night stand. Throughout college, it was always women older than me, seemingly more experienced than me. And then, when I graduated, it was pretty much the same: weekends out in a different bar with a different girl.”
Pippa shifts onto her side, lifting onto an elbow to look at me.
“I don’t do relationships. I don’t do more than first names and a night filled with more rounds of sex than you could imagine. I don’t do phone numbers, pillow talk, or repeats that could lead to sexy lingerie. I don’t do sneaking around or lying or coming to watch competitions.”
I risk a glance at her, watching her expression darken with each word I say, her body tensing beside me.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you asked. Because you wanted to get to know me. Because I’m a therapist’s wet-fucking-dream. I’m the man who’s never had a girlfriend, the man who’s never been in love, the one who doesn’t want attachments because then I can leave them before they leave me.
“I’m the one who’s fucking his boss’s daughter without an ounce of remorse, regret, or fear of the repercussions. I should let you go. I should have after the first time, but I can’t. I’m possessive in a way I’ve never been before that it almost scares me. I don’t like it. It isn’t me, yet as much as I try to fight it, it doesn’t work.”
“Then don’t fight it,” she breathes, her pupils blown wide. “I don’t want you to.”
“You shouldn’t want me,” I growl, my head turning to glare at her. “I’m a man who’s only good for a night, Pippa. You are a woman who’s great for a lifetime. You could choose someone,anyone, better than me.”
“That’s not up to you.” She swings her leg over mine, straddling my hips, her fingers biting into my shoulders. “Don’t you realize that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be? No one forces me to do something I don’t want to, Wyatt, and clearly, you haven’t been paying attention and need to be reminded.”
