Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(60)

“Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m sorry,” he says between chuckles. “But you’re kidding, right? You’re the guy on the team who no one would let date their daughter. Straight up fuck-boy. And now you’re trying to tell me it takes more than a hot piece of ass to get your attention?”

I roll on top of him, boxing him in against the mattress with my entire body. My fingers lace with his before pinning them above his head, and I can tell the position I’ve got him in is setting him on edge. There’s fire burning in his eyes while he looks up at me.

“Well, then, I guess I misspoke,” I murmur, leaning in and brushing my lips along his jaw. “It takes more than a hot piece of ass to keep my attention.”

It’s his turn to roll us so he’s the one pinning me to the mattress, slowly fucking into me with every grind of his hips. One quick move, and I’m primed and ready to go to whatever filthy place he wants to take me next.

“But don’t get me wrong, you’re still so fucking hot,” I murmur, reaching around to squeeze his ass. “Never in my life did I imagine telling you something like that, but there it is. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I think you’re talking about yourself there. I know how to keep my ego in check. Unlike someone I know, who’s gotten all cocky ever since he tasted dick the first time.”

“What can I say? I have superior blow job skills.”

“Again,” he whispers against my mouth, “those socks you got me beg to differ.”

I let out a groan of frustration and let my head slam back against my pillow. “I’m really starting to regret getting those for you.”

His head drops against my shoulder and he lets out a soft, husky laugh that...hell. It does everything for me. Fries my nervous system, short circuiting my brain enough to make our rivalry seem like a thing of the past.

Because I wanna hear it again. Just like this.

In the crook of my neck, floating over my skin like satin.

Breathy and raspy and just for me.

And that’s really fucking dangerous.





Twenty-One

Oakley

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling my attention from the textbooks scattered across my bed as I attempt to study for this damn economics test I have later this week. Which is insane, considering we’ve only been back in classes for two weeks.

That’s college for you. Cramming as much crap in our brains as humanly possible before tossing us out into the world to be functioning members of society.

Like Hayes so aptly pointed out earlier this week, Quinton’s already taken this class a couple years ago as one of his undergraduate requirements. Which is lucky for me. Not because he still has the notebooks or anything useful for me. It’s Quinn we’re talking about. But he knows the material and can still help me should I need it, which is more than enough.

And speak of the devil, that’s exactly who texted me.

Quinton: What are you doing?

Me: Studying econ. Wanna come help?

Quinton: Can it take a rain check until tomorrow?

I smirk at my phone screen. Ever since the night we broke the rules for the first time, we haven’t cared to go back to obeying them. Now, barely twenty-four hours can go by without Quinn or I touching each other.

Me: Is this a booty call, de Haas? Are you wanting me to put your sexual needs before my education?

Quinton: It’s not a booty call, though it’s comical to hear from the one who begged to come over last night so I could come all over YOU.

My dick twitches at the thoughts of Quinn and I last night. It was like a repeat of our first official hook-up, only he was the one in charge this time. It was different from what I’m used to, having someone else above me like that. Pressing me down into the mattress and stroking us both to heaven while I sank my finger inside his ass. But as strange as it was, I loved it. I loved every dirty, sweaty second of it. And from the way he kissed me afterward—all teeth and tongue and need—I’d say he was definitely a fan too.

Me: That was so hot. Remind me some more and I won’t be able to leave without my dick saluting everyone I pass on the way out the door.

Quinton: Is that a yes then? Is it really that easy? You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to, Mr. Stick To The Plan.

Coming from the guy who’s made it his life’s mission to get me to loosen up and have a little fun.

Me: Do I have to know every detail? Unless you’re planning to kill me, chop me into tiny pieces, and toss my parts into Lake Michigan, I think I’m good.

Quinton: ...the fuck? How the hell did you jump from booty call to dismemberment?

Quinton: No, never mind. I don’t think I wanna know.

My grin is instant. Throwing him off-balance, even in the smallest ways, always makes me smile or laugh. Probably because it’s not an easy task, as I’ve learned over the past months.

Me: Let me know when and where to meet you for the non-booty call that may or may not be my plotted murder.

Quinton: You’re ridiculous. I’ll pick you up out front in ten. Bring a change of clothes.

Me: Thought you said this wasn’t a booty call?

Quinton: Just pack your shit, Oak. Before I turn you into fish food.

I do as he asks, and true to his word, Quinton pulls up outside our house in his flashy BMW ten minutes later. He’s halfway to the door when I slip out, not wanting him to knock and risk one of my roommates answering. Especially Brax or Cam.