Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(66)

“Check you texts.”

“What?”

“Check your phone.”

Huffing, aggravated. Knowing he won’t let me go until I do, I pull my phone out and see the unread text from him.

ig D al: e wit m





I hold up the phone. “I don’t know what this means. Are you not even writing in complete words anymore?”

He stares at the screen and scowls, looking more than a little frustrated. “Your phone is trashed. How do you read anything on this thing?” Fishing his phone out of his shorts, he scrolls through it and hands it to me.

And while I read, my pulse speeds up as if it intends to win the race.

“Do you mean it?” I look up into his serious expression. “Or is it only because you thought Simon was stealing away your toy?”

He leans into me and I can feel his erection. I could probably feel it if I was standing a foot away frankly. “I’ve wanted you from the start. I was just…afraid to lose you, afraid to screw everything up between us…and I did anyway.” He shakes his head. “This has nothing to do with tonight. I thought I made it clear on Thanksgiving how much I want you,” he admits in a low, quiet voice.

He kisses me gently, then, nips my bottom lip, testing how much I’m willing to allow. Breaking news: I’m allowing everything. Because despite the fact that he’s been an ass tonight, I still want him more than my next breath of air.

We start kissing in earnest. Our hands get involved. His over my shirt, squeezing my breast. Mine wrap around and palm his butt. His hips drop. He grinds against me and I just about come undone from the friction. It’s been a while. And with all the teasing and touching that’s going on, I am primed to go off at the slightest provocation.

His hand glides beneath my short skirt and over my underwear. Back and forth, back and forth his knuckles stroke. It’s not enough. My hips buck, chasing the pressure he keeps denying me.

“This what you want?” His whisper slips into my ear as smoothly as his fingers slip past my panties to play with me.

I’m close. So, so close. Knees locked. Muscles trembling. God, I’m so close. I’m close to begging him to finish me off. He pinches my nipple over my shirt and I moan. Then he drops to his knees and I’m bracing against the wall for support. His hands work assertively, shoving up my skirt and pushing my underwear aside. Cool air hits me.

“I’ve dreamed about doing this.” The low, gravelly declaration reaches me despite the blood rushing in my ears. Then I feel the warm puffs of his breath on my privates and it pulls me right out of the moment.

“No, Rea. No, that’s not my thing.” I try to close my legs and he pushes them wider. I look down. The wide breadth of his powerful shoulders are rounded to fit closer, his dark head wedged between my legs––I’ve never seen anything sexier. Not even in my dreams, and I have a very vivid imagination.

“This is why you think food is better than sex.” He chuckles, and sweet baby J, I feel it on my clit. Every muscle in my body tenses and quakes. But that was just the beginning. He puts his mouth on me and tugs, his fingers digging into my hips to keep them in place. And then he lavishes me with his tongue. I almost scream.

“No screaming.”

“W-what?” is all I have a chance to say because he sucks on my clit and enters me with three fingers and I am gone, shouting as the orgasm blasts through me. An electric current that leaves nothing but euphoria in its wake.

That’s never happened to me before. I’m usually so much in my head that I have to fake it to get them to stop.

My legs are shaking when he comes up and kisses me hard. I can taste myself on him. There’s something so primal and sexy and wrong about it. He levels me with a smug, lazy stare.

“Now it’s your thing.”

Floodlights come on.

The cold hard light hits us in the face and we scramble. I don’t get a chance to think. I don’t even get a choice. He simply hauls me up and throws me over his shoulder. A moment later he’s jogging, actually jogging with me over his shoulder, back to the house. Good thing it’s only one block away.

“I’m going to toss my cookies!”

“You better not.”

A bunch of the guys are on the couch, playing video games, when Reagan walks through the door carrying me.

“Welcome back, Bailey,” one drunk idiot snickers.

“Long time no see,” adds another.

As soon as we’re in his bedroom, Reagan kicks the door shut and places me back on my feet. I wobble and fall against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and holds me closer.

We’re both smiling and breathless. “We’re really doing this? You’re not going to get weird on me tomorrow?”

He leans down and murmurs in my ear, “Nobody is getting weird. And the only thing I’m doing tomorrow is hiding between your legs.”

A shiver runs down my back. Backing away from him, I walk over to the bed and strip my shirt off, sit on the edge in the only cute bra I own.

“I’m not on the pill.” Best to get the important stuff out right away. “I can’t…” My gaze moves down. His stare is so intense I can’t look him in the eye as I bare my soul. And however unsexy this conversation is, we have to have it. “It messes with my hormones and with my family history it’s too much of a risk.”