Page 134 of Chasing Headlines

“What about Breslin?”Would he feel obligated . . . in some way?I shook my head. “For what?” I snuggled back under the covers.You're being ridiculous. Four grown men will not take out an ad in The Vanquished advertising that Liv and Breslin are “together”. This won't even be a thing . . .

I flipped over, again, pulled the covers up to my chin. The faint scent of sandalwood reached my senses. I think I smiled as I finally drifted off to sleep.

A knock on my door cut through the silence of the dorm. I sighed and set down my ereader, and strode to the door. It opened. Coop's smug, smirking features leaned down to eye level. I didn't have time to blink before his mouth seized mine. Firm and salty-sweet. He kissed his way from my lips to my jaw, then down to my neck.

He pressed something into my hand as he lifted me from the ground. I wrapped my legs around his waist. I slipped my arms over his shoulders and held on. A few steps and then my bed rose up to meet me.

And oh, God, he was completely naked, hovering over me. He grasped my hand. Warm, thin plastic crinkled within my palm. I looked at the package. “For her pleasure” written in bold, red letters.

I gasped and he purred in my ear. “It's day four.” And suddenly, my clothes disappeared. And every inch of his glorious male body pressed against me. My skin thrummed and tingled. I wanted to be closer . . .

I sat up, sweaty and damp. The world was complete darkness. An ache burned deep in my abdomen. My phone on the nightstand said it was Monday morning—a bit past 1am.Nowhere close to day four. Gah!I shook away the thought.

The rest of me wasn't so easily distracted. I really couldn’t quell the visions, the experience, the memories. An ache deep within my body cried out. I needed his touch.

I remembered . . .

The scrape of his jeans against my inner thigh. His lips thick and sweet, caressing mine. The rough hewn of his palm against the skin at my waist. He slid it up to brush the so-sensitive swell of my breast.

His lips would have left mine, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh of my neck. His hot breath would send millions of shivers through me, electrifying every cell in my body. The tips of my fingers touched my cheek and slid over my jaw. They painted the path Breslin's mouth would take. And I could just pretend like I knew. Like I'd had enough experience to do anything other than imagine . . .

He would take his time, teasing me, with his deep, sexy voice humming in my ear. His teeth grazing my skin. He'd nip his way down to my chest. His palm had already settled over my breast. My breath hitched as I traced a teasing circle into the soft, pliant flesh of my areola. I could imagine the bratty, satisfied twist of his lips as he watched my nipples tighten into aroused little buds.

Showing him how desperately I wanted him. All of him.

I wet my fingers and closed my eyes—pretending it was his tongue lapping at the peak of my breast. Tender became aching. And then the simmering pool of desire in my abdomen began to churn. It whirled and swirled around a tightening apex. Longing. Need. The core of my femininity twitched. I groaned. It craved his touch.

My fingers slipped against my needy, desperate clit. The delicious friction sang through my body—an erotic note. An intense melody marked with refrains of tighten and release.

Breslin and his alpha male-ness would need to spread me. Press his tongue into my folds and taste me. Tease me. Hear me moan and plead his name . . . before he claimed me.

“Uhn!” The heat swirled faster. My fingers worked my nub as I imagined him settling over me again. This time fully nude. His length would find my center, wet and willing and welcoming.

I gasped. The pool in my stomach swelled, demanding more. More pressure, more heat. My body in blissful agony as every part of me reached for its release. I imagined his proud erectionpenetrating my sex, stretching me. Filling me in a way . . . I hadn't been before.

I turned my head and moaned into my pillow. He'd twine our hands together with a soft look in his eyes; draw his cock out to the tip before gliding back inside. Me. My body. His shaft connecting us in an erotic dance. Pressing and soaring. Plunging and tightening. Ebbing and longing.

The Breslin in my fevered dream held my gaze as he sought to pleasure me. Slipping slick circles onto my clit. Plunging, thrusting deep inside until every inch of me was strung tight, aching with anticipation. The apex of the swirling heat—ignited. My body surged. Crested. Orgasmic sparks and fluttering stars rushed through me. I shuddered and convulsed. A wonderful sense of satisfaction seeped into my skin.

I curled up in my blanket, wishing it was his arms . . . and fell asleep.

Monday morning arrived the way my arch nemesis always would—unwanted and with that smug, knowing, almost maniacally cheerful grin that says: I don't need coffee to wake up, and I definitely didn't bring you any.

I whimpered and smacked the alarm on my phone. Whose idea was Monday morning, anyway? Shouldn't we ease into the day back from the weekend? Start at noon . . . I'd even stay later on Fridays. No, that was a lie. And then the whole week begins to erode. Yes, Monday morning was the last outpost championing order and rationality despite the constant threat of chaos.

Didn't mean I had to like it. I pulled my pillow over my head and sealed my eyes shut.

Breslin's lips left mine, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh of my neck. His hot breath sent millions of shivers through my skin, my body . . .

I shot up from the bed. No no no, I was not going to indulge that . . . that insanity. The whole experience, situation, and any softer emotions than admiration of Coop's baseball prowess—needed to be buried and dead. An unmarked grave in the backyard like the ones for all the pet goldfish my brother and I lost over the years.

God, I was an idiot. And that stupidly handsome smirky face of his as he'd held up that condom. And suggested . . .

Breslin's deep, sexy voice hummed in my ear as his teeth grazed my skin. He nipped a path down to my chest. His palm settled over my breast as his lips twisted into a bratty, satisfied grin as he thumbed my nipple, rubbing light, teasing circles into the tender buds.

My cheeks burned. I could tell without looking, I'd turned into a tomato. I buried my face in my hands. Sexy, smirking, playful, concussed Breslin Cooper was dangerous and devastating to behold.

I just needed to stay far away from him. Emotionally far. I couldn't physically . . . Yeah, I was still a tomato.