Page 16 of Unbreakable
This guy had girls sleep over often enough that he had an all-purpose charging station for their phones? Courteous and promiscuous! I lay back and googled “LA Princes roster,” scrolling to look for a Dylan. And there he was, the man, themyth, the legend lying next to me. Dylan Sorrento, 6’2”, 197 pounds, twenty-five years old. He looked all cute and serious in his photo, like he was trying to present himself as a big scary athlete man. I usually went for older guys, but?—
“Are you looking up my stats?”
I startled, almost dropping my phone in my embarrassment at being caught in the act. “I should get going.”
I shifted to sit up and an arm snaked around my middle. “Not so fast, gorgeous.”
I shrieked as he hauled me over and on top of him, facing down. “What’s the hurry?”
My breath snagged, the feeling of his stacked body under me and the whole situation throwing me off. “I just—I?—”
He raised his eyebrows at me, waiting. His morning skin smelled like heaven and it was tempting to nestle my nose into his chest for a big whiff.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” is where I landed.
“You’re not that kind of girl?” he teased.
“Well,” I chuckled, “I am that kind. But I’m not a stay-for-brunch type.”
“No?” he asked, brows pinching together. “Guess what type I am?”
I smirked and snorted, still on top of him with my nakedness meeting his. “I don’t think you’re the brunch type either, judging by the abundance of charging cables on my side of the bed.”
He ran his tongue along his teeth like I’d punched him in the mouth. “Not usually the brunch type, no. But for you, I’m the when-can-I-see-you-again type.”
I laughed and my voice was a little hoarse. “Nice try. Last night was fun.” I rolled off him and covered myself with the bedsheet.
“Shy now, huh? You weren’t shy last night.” His eyes were drowsy moving over me, like there was no reason for the bedsheet at all. “Can I convince you to stay for a cup of coffee?”
“I should . . .” I tried, but couldn’t finish because he sat up and ran tiny kisses along the ridge of my shoulders.
“Your skin is delicious, Jeanine,” he hummed as his lips moved to my neck. My eyes rolled back in my head.
“Dylan,” I sighed as a surge of blood rushed between my legs.
“There you go,” he rasped. “I bet you’d really like some coffee.”
I giggled as he scrambled to my side of the bed and scooped me up. He was undoubtedly hot, but the thing that struck me was his hands. They were so big, with veins and more of that dusting of dark hair that covered him. I’d never been a big body hair girl, probably conditioned by California’s oiled-up fitness culture. But Dylan was pulling it off without trying. His kitchen opened into a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. He dropped me on the kitchen counter.
“I’m naked!” I squealed. “I’m going to traumatize someone on the beach.”
He grinned as he folded my arms across my breasts and one leg over the other. “Hang tight.”
He jogged back to his bedroom, seemingly unaffected by his jiggling junk along the way. Damn, that ass was tight. Like, bounce a quarter off it and get your money back tight.
He came back in holding his t-shirt from the night before and wearing boxer briefs himself. He gathered up the neck of the shirt and put it over my head. But before he pulled it over my breasts, he brushed gentle kisses over the bruises on them. “Sorry about this, baby.”
Then he pulled the shirt all the way down. He rubbed his lips together, his eyes drifting over my new appearance. “Better?”
“As long as this covers my ass.”
He scrunched his nose and shook his head. “I’d rather it didn’t.”
As I was about to chastise him, he dropped to his knees and kissed the insides of mine. “Because now I can do this.”
It was a long time before that coffee got brewed, and I could have cared less who I traumatized on the beach.
I gave him my number on the way out.
