The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) (8 page)

I’m falling into him, and he’s sweeping me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he stumbles into the room behind us. I’m too far-gone to care if anyone is inside. Cool, quiet darkness greets us.

We land on a couch, Baylor knocking things from it even as he sets me down. My nails clutch at his shirt, tugging it, desperate to get the thing off. I need to see him, touch his skin. With a muffled curse, he yanks the shirt over his head in one move, his hair tufting in wild angles as it comes away. One glimpse of his glorious chest, hard-packed with muscle and gleaming in the pale light from the outside street lamp, is all I get. Then he’s on me, his mouth at my throat, licking, kissing, sucking. Zeroing in on a spot that sends pleasure and heat skittering through my flesh. Fingers rake my shoulders, grab hold of my top and pull it to my waist. He eases back as he does this, his greedy gaze taking in everything. I lift my exposed breasts. An offering. A plea. I’ve become a wanton thing, needing his touch.

“Christ.” It’s a growl in darkened room. “You’re so...”

His head lowers, steamy breath buffeting my hard nipple, and then his hot, wet mouth draws me in. The way he goes at me. It’s almost lewd, his tongue sliding and flicking over my nipple as if he’s lapping up melting ice cream. I feel it to my core, as if he’s licking there too. His big, warm hand covers my other breast, kneading and shaping it with just enough force to have me restless and shifting beneath him.

When he plucks my throbbing nipple, I rear up, my hands finding his narrow waist, my mouth on the heated skin of his shoulder. He tastes of salt and smells of sex. My knuckles scrape on the buttons of his jeans as I tear at it. And then his cock is in my hand. I revel in the thick, satin heat of him, a pulsing living thing that twitches in my grasp, before his mouth returns to my neck, his hands grabbing for my skirt. Our heads bump, our breath coming short. We’re booth too greedy, too eager to touch each other.

My panties are wrenched off and cool air hits my exposed skin. Baylor rises up over me, his honed body a work of art in the weak light. His open jeans sag about strong thighs, the jut of his long cock just visible in the shadows. He’s reaching into his pocket, pulling a wallet out. His hands shake, the wallet threatening to fall as he struggles to get a condom packet free.

“Hurry.” My legs tremble, my sex so swollen it aches. “Now.
Now.
”

Cursing, he tears at the battered packet. My vision blurs, and I rub a boot-clad foot over his ass. He flinches as though burned, then rolls the condom on, canting his hips and holding the root of that big cock of his in one hand as he does it. God, the way he moves, so confident and just a bit dirty. I can’t wait any longer. I’m empty, so empty.

The hot skin of his chest presses against mine, his breath a rough, disjointed sound. Both of us groan as the blunt head of his cock pushes into me. And
in
, working his way deeper. Until I’m filled with him.

We still for a moment, centered on the feel of him pulsing inside of me.
Inside me. Drew Baylor is inside me.
It’s like a fever dream. Unreal, and yet it’s the most present I’ve ever been in my own flesh. And then he moves. Pumps hard and deep. Dream or not, it no longer matters.

Every time he thrusts, he makes a little helpless grunt as if he needs more, more. I understand. The thickness of his cock filling and emptying me, the silk of his skin sliding over mine, isn’t enough. I’m burning up, shaking with pleasure. I didn’t know it could be like this.

My hands clutch the shifting muscles of his back, pulling him closer. He trembles, his grip moving to my ass, holding it as he does what he wants to me. And I let him, because nothing has felt better.

“Jones,” he rasps in my ear. Needy. Dark.

So close. So close.

His teeth graze the sensitive area low on my neck. When he bites down, sucking hard as he grinds against my clit, I come with bright and blinding brilliance.

As if I set something off, he goes wild, bucking and thrusting. His eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches. The way he looks at me, all heat and intensity. I know exactly what he’s feeling, because I need him with the same urgency. I dig my fingers into the tight globes of his ass. His entire body goes granite hard, straining against mine as he comes with a harsh cry, and his eyes do not leave mine until the last spasm goes through him.

Lax and sated, we melt into each other, our chests lifting and falling in a shared breath.

When he talks, his voice is coarse as gravel. “God, Jones. That was…” His voice fails, but his grip on me tightens. Like he’s not going to let me go.

Reality is a fall through ice into deep, dark water. I freeze in the aftermath. What the fuck have I done?

I’M STILL SHAKING when I get home. My hands are useless, fumbling with the button of my jeans, grasping and missing the taps before I manage to turn on the shower. Full-out cold.

I’m a wreck. My heart is beating like I’ve just done an hour of shuttle drills. And it doesn’t seem to want to slow down.

Icy water hits my overheated skin, and I hiss.

Holy hell, what just happened?

Anna Jones has wrecked me. Utterly.

Memories assault me, the pale, undulating length of her body arching up to mine; drawing her hard, luscious nipple deep in my mouth; the soft, warm weight of her breasts cupped in my hands. I groan. My knees actually go weak, and I have to lean against the tiles or risk falling over.

Water pours over my face and runs into my eyes before I squeeze them closed. But it doesn’t stop those images from playing. Her rounded thighs spread wide. For me. A small thatch of curls and plump, wet lips glistening. For me. I licked and sucked every inch of that prize. Her taste is still in my mouth.

“Shit.” My voice echoes in the shower.

And though goose bumps cover my skin, I’m hot again. And hard. The tip of my randy dick presses against the cold tiles, and I find myself nudging forward just to alleviate the pressure. Shit. I want her again. Now.
Badly.

I don’t even try to stroke myself. It’s not going to help. The horny bastard wants Anna, not my hand. Besides, I cringe at jacking off to thoughts of her now like a pathetic beggar.

God, it was humiliating to watch the realization of what she did steal over her features and the horror creep into her eyes. She couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’d sat back on my haunches like a moron as she wrenched up her top and scrambled off the sofa. Her panties were a lost cause, apparently, because she simply fled the room with a mumbled “Sorry—Bye” tossed my way.

She didn’t even let me kiss her. That burns the most. As if kissing me was so personal that she couldn’t bear it. As if she needed to relegate me to some random, near faceless fuck.

I groan again and run a hand over my face. My arms feel like lead, and I’m shivering. Slowly, I turn on the hot water and sink to the hard floor of the shower stall. I’ve just experienced the hottest, most erotic, life-changing sex of my life, and I don’t think I’m going to get a repeat. Tonight was obviously an ill-advised hook up for her. And I’m so screwed because it was the best thing that has ever happened to me.

IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. That’s what we’ll pretend. Flashes of Baylor rising over me, of his chest sliding against mine, his thick, heavy cock sinking… My steps wobble. Okay, it did happen, and I’m unable to pretend otherwise. But it doesn’t really count. It was a…a…cosmic blip, a slight detour from reality. It was a hook up. No more. No less. I can do this. I’ve had hook ups before. Wham, bam, thank you, man. Lust satisfied. Life goes on.

Taking a deep breath, I head down the hall toward my class.

Shit on a Popsicle stick. Baylor lounges against the door, one long leg crossed over the other, his arms lightly folded over his broad chest. My heart pounds like a frightened rabbit trying to spring from a fox.

He watches me, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Traitor that my body is, my pulse leaps at that smile. My mouth wants to smile back. I bite the inside of my lip. It gets worse as I draw up before him. I know him now. I know the texture of his skin, what his cock feels like deep inside of me, the sounds he makes when he comes.

“Hey,” he says.

My skin prickles. God, his voice. His voice whispering against my wet sex.
Stop me.
I swallow thickly.

“Hey.”

His smile grows. “I’ve been thinking about you, Jones.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“Such animosity.” A warm puff of air touches my cheek as he leans in, bringing that body of his way too close for my sanity. “I thought we were past that stage.”

I’m in my own personal hell because all I want to do is lick the side of his strong neck and dip my hand into his well-worn jeans and grab hold of what’s mine. I wrench my head back and glare, focusing on his chin because I can’t look at him in the eye. Coward. “You’re right. Let’s move on to the ‘never mentioning it or thinking about it again’ stage.”

Baylor frowns. “I don’t like that option.”

“I don’t care.” I give a pointed look at the door then his big, broad chest. “Do you mind moving out of the way? I want to get to class.”

He simply stands there, arms crossed in a way that does interesting things to his biceps and forearms, and scans my face. I still can’t meet his eyes, which annoys me.

“Are you embarrassed?” he asks in a lowered voice.

“No. Hardly.”
Yes. Completely.

“You look embarrassed. You’re all flushed here.” He brushes a finger along my cheek.

I bat his hand away. “I get flushed when I’m annoyed.”

His voice rumbles along my skin. “That isn’t the only time you flush.”

And now my knees are weak. I glance at him, see the heat and teasing light in his eyes, so I focus on his earlobe instead. A nice, innocuous earlobe. That I want to bite. “Is this your post hook up protocol? Bug the girl afterward? Do you need feedback or something to stroke your ego? Are you going to ask if the earth moved for me?”

He lifts up his hand and starts counting off points with his fingers. “I don’t need to ask that, Jones. We both know the earth fucking melted. I don’t have a hook up protocol. I’d make a joke about what needs stroking, but that’s too easy. Frankly, I’m disappointed that you left yourself wide open for that one.” He touches the tip of my nose, and that shit-eating Baylor grin grows. “I expected more of a challenge.”

“Gah!” I shove past him.

“‘Gah?’” He laughs, as I wrench open the classroom door. “Is that even English—?”

“Mr. Baylor,” Professor Lambert says in greeting, her pale eyes sharp with reprimand. “Miss Jones. So glad you two could make it. Would you please take your seats?”

I give her a quick nod and head for mine, utterly aware of every eye on Baylor and me as we walk down an aisle. As for Baylor, he is a presence I cannot shake. And my stupid body is humming as if it’s at its own, personal happy hour.

Class ambles along at an excruciating pace. Lambert is discussing Plato’s utopian ideal, and though I try to focus, my body is too attuned to Baylor to be successful.