The Score (Off-Campus #3)(84)

I waste no time snuggling up beside him and resting my head on his shoulder. His bare chest is warm and sturdy, and he smells heavenly. I don’t bother asking what kind of aftershave he uses, because it’s probably something I’ve never heard of that costs a thousand bucks a drop.

We lie there for a while watching the show, which now features a whole slew of new characters who are causing trouble for Solange.

“You know,” Dean muses, “if Marc had half a brain, he’d dump Christine and hook up with Monique.”

“I like Christine,” I protest. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s conning him, babe. Nobody is that sweet all the time.”

“I am.”

Dean’s snort vibrates against my cheek. “Yeah right. You’re maybe twenty percent sweet. Tops.”

I pretend to be hurt. “Do you really think that?” I ask in a small voice.

He strokes a soothing hand down my spine. “Naah,” he says gruffly. “Don’t worry. You’re one hundred percent sweet.”

“Ha. I wasn’t worried in the slightest. Just wanted to hear you say that.”

He chuckles and holds me closer. As the episode unfolds, we get more engrossed in it, falling silent to watch. Dean is absently caressing me, his long fingers grazing the side of my boob with each slow stroke of his hand. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, but it makes me feel…fine, it’s making me horny.

“I’m telling you, she’s up to something.” Dean’s green eyes are focused on the TV, but his hand keeps stroking.

On the screen, Christine sits at a table at an outdoor bistro, whispering into her cell phone. The conversation seems pleasant enough. Then again, it’s in French, so who knows.

“I bet you she’s hiring a contract killer.” Dean’s thumbnail grazes my nipple.

I’m now thoroughly distracted.

He’s still talking away.

“We need to find a version of this show with English subtitles.”

His thumb moves away from my nipple, then eases toward it again.

“I get you’re trying to learn the language, babe, but it’s driving me nuts not knowing what’s going on—”

“Dean.”

“Mmm?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?”

“Touching my boob.”

“Oh. Was I doing that?”

I prop myself up on my elbow so I can see his face. His impish expression tells me he wasn’t as oblivious as I thought.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” I chide. “And now you need to stop doing it.”

His tongue comes out to lick his lips. “Why? Is it getting you all worked up?”

“Yes.”

He responds with a deep chuckle, then rolls us over so we’re lying on our sides facing each other. He cups my left breast and squeezes gently. This time when his fingertips find my nipple, it’s with absolute purpose. He rubs the rapidly hardening bud. Then he releases my breast and slides his hand inside my boxers.

I cast an alarmed glance in Beau’s direction. He’s not snoring anymore, but his eyes are still closed.

“Beau’s sitting right there,” I hiss at Dean.

“He’s asleep.” His fingers tease the waistband of my panties, then dip beneath it. When his thumb presses on my clit, I have to bite my lip so I don’t moan.

“Dean,” I murmur nervously.

“Allie,” he murmurs back.

The pad of his thumb gently circles my clit, sending a hot shiver racing up my spine. He rubs and teases until I’m swollen, aching, and my hips involuntarily hitch forward, seeking deeper contact. He chuckles again.

“Dean…” It’s a warning.

“Allie.” It’s a taunt.

His hand moves lower, the calloused palm scraping my * on its descent. One talented finger slips inside me. A cross between a breath, a sigh and a groan escapes my lips, but it’s instantly cut off when Dean presses his lips to mine.

I kiss him back hungrily, helpless to resist him. Dean Di Laurentis is in my blood now. I didn’t expect the intense sexual chemistry between us, but it’s here, and it’s addictive, and I don’t know how I can ever give it up. He grinds the heel of his hand against my clit, and the delicious pressure has my thighs clenching together. Pleasure gathers between my legs, making my entire body tremble.

I’m far too aware of the sounds we’re making. Our heavy breathing. The wet glide of his finger moving inside me. I pray to God that Beau isn’t a light sleeper.

“I always know when you’re getting close,” Dean whispers.

“How?” The methodical thrust of his finger is distracting. I start to squirm, my inner muscles bearing down on him as the pleasure intensifies and dances along my heated flesh.

“Your cheeks turn bright red, and your eyes…they glaze over.” His warm mouth skates over my jaw before traveling down my neck. “Your pulse throbs…right here—” He licks the center of my throat “—and your * squeezes me so f*cking tight, like it’s trying to trap my finger inside of it.”

My breaths go shallow. My mind is foggy. His deep voice and magical hand are all I’m able to focus on, but when he curves his finger and starts moving it faster, my brain shuts down completely.