Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(10)

I stare at the beads of sweat on her forehead, the flush on her cheeks and fluttered lashes with what almost feels like awe or disbelief before I kiss her, effectively shutting off my mind from expanding on that idea. She responds eagerly with a just as bruising kiss before nipping at my bottom lip and slipping her tongue in my mouth, commanding and leading me, using me for her own pleasure. It’s so fucking sexy I begin to worry if I’ll become a one pump chump once inside her. I need to calm down.

Fingers work their way into the hairs at the base of my scalp and yank hard enough to pull our lips apart and expose my neck to her wet, open mouthed kisses. I need to reel her in. I need to take back the power before I lose it completely.

“You’re going to be so tight, aren’t you? You could barely take my one finger earlier. I’m going to stretch you out so good,” I mumble, moving away from her lips to shove my head in her neck instead as I begin to feast on the immediately addicting taste of her skin. Peaches and fucking sunshine. I’ve never compared a taste to Goddamn sunshine before, but I would happily do it again because that’s the only way to describe it. Warm, clear, free. She tastes like fucking sunshine. My hot breath fans out on her skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface.

“I need you inside of me now. Stop playing with me,” she growls, pulling my head out of her neck and reaching down to grip the steel bar between my legs.

I laugh at her attempt at a glare but don’t dare disagree. “Put my cock inside you then, fighter. Take what you need.”

And she does. Fuck, she does. My jaw slacks when she guides me inside and then stops, sending me a look that says, I’m not doing all the work, asshole. With a brief shake of my head, I thrust the rest of the way and bite my tongue hard enough I taste blood when I feel her tighten around me like a damn vice. “Fuck yes. Take every last inch.”

Her nails scratch at my back, no doubt popping the skin as she focuses her gaze on me. "Please, just fuck me."

More than satisfied with her plea, I pull out before thrusting back in again when I feel her become more adjusted to my size, building momentum every time my balls slap her ass, filling her to the hilt. I lean back on my knees and pull her towards me, entering her again with a guttural sound that I hardly recognize as coming from my own mouth.

Gripping her ankles, I push her legs up into the air and continue barreling into her, the sound of slapping skin echoing around us, intensifying the electricity zapping between us everytime she reaches towards me with a stomach swirling intensity. I can feel my high building—biting at my spine and forcing my thighs to clench tight. My stomach tightens and I fumble with her clit, pressing down on it with the pad of my thumb and rotating, determined to get Sierra off before I fill this condom.

"Oh my God!" she cries, eyes squeezed tightly. “Harder. I’m gonna come.”

"That’s a good girl. You take this cock so fucking good. Come for me, Sierra.”

“Yes!” she screams, her pussy clamping down on me, holding me in place just as I feel my orgasm shoot up my spine. My head falls back and I thrust into her again before stopping, muscles quaking and my release filling the condom.

Sierra stays silent, both of us catching desperate breaths. I pull away and discard the used condom before coming back and seeing her lying on her stomach, arm tucked under my pillow, dead asleep.

I swallow down my laughter and mumble under my breath, “Goodnight, then, fighter.”





Chapter Five





Sierra





I'm pulled out of dreamland only to have bright sunlight burn through my eyes, piercing into my skull. As if the tequila headache wasn’t enough, the nausea swirling in my belly definitely is.

A thick, ink-covered arm weighs down my chest as I try to focus on the now, not the before when I was gulping back alcohol like water after a marathon and shaking my ass on anyone within arms reach. Letting out a shaky sigh of regret, I trail my eyes up the arm and try desperately to ignore the pulse between my legs that thumps like a raced heartbeat when my heavy eyes fall on the deep purple bruises covering Braden’s throat. Damnitt, Sierra. Hickeys? Are we sixteen?

The memories of last night come flooding through my head, making it pound hard enough that I begin rubbing my temples in search of relief.

Getting drunk was not a part of my plan last night. But neither was coming home with a guy who reeks of broken hearts and probably has a nauseating number of nudes in his camera roll. I want to hate myself for being weak enough to throw myself at by far the hottest guy I think I’ve ever seen, but I’m far too prideful to look past the fact that I actually got him to sleep with me in the first place to follow through with the self-hatred.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to come up with a plan. There's no way that I'm staying here to deal with his no-doubt typical morning-after speech, so I guess that only leaves me with one viable option: disappear before he has a chance to rip my self-confidence to shreds. I already feel disgusted enough by my actions. The last thing I need to deal with is his cocky, pussy wetting arrogance on top of it.

What happened last night, I know that that's not me. I'm not the type of girl who drops her panties for the hottest guy that comes up to her at a club. I’m normally too chicken-shit to do anything like that. But last night, I was. I was the girl that other girls whisper about, watching her make a total fool out of herself by falling all over a guy who won’t remember her in the morning. And as much as I would love to blame it on the heart-crunching pain I felt watching my ex-boyfriend push the girl he cheated on me with up against the back door of said club, I know that it goes far beyond that.