“Get your head in the game, Ayers,” the coach yells, and Cullen sneers at him before turning back to the team. There’s a boiling tension between them, unspoken words that no one else on the field is privy to. No one has a clue that Cullen is responsible for the bruises on the coach’s face or what the coach did to deserve them.
As hard as I try to keep my focus on my research, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the practice for the next hour and a half. I even find myself getting sucked into the rules and strategy, watching Cullen as he makes the forward passes, and a little part of me panics every time he gets crushed in tackles. As soon as he jumps up, he glances at me. He wants to know I’m watching, and I am. The eye contact between us grows in intensity, making me hotter even as I sit out here in the cool fall air, bundled in my coat.
Just before seven, the practice ends, and I head to my car before him, so we’re not seen leaving together. As I climb in, I spot him coming toward me, and my pulse quickens. This is the first time we’ve been alone since that video call yesterday.
As his eyes lock with mine, I have to remind myself he hates me. Cullen is not interested in me, not like that. The sexual attraction between us is fueled by revenge, and that’s it.
He throws his bag into my trunk and drops into the seat next to me, but he doesn’t hesitate a moment before grabbing my face and pulling to him for a bruising, violent kiss.
Time stops, and I let out a yelp just as he fuses his lips to mine. And he tastes good. Kissing Cullen is like visiting a private place all our own, where there are no rules or witnesses. I don’t necessarily kiss him back, but when his tongue presses its way into my mouth, I let it. He nips at my lips as he consumes me, and I try to stop time. I don’t want to open my eyes and face his hate for me anymore. I just want to exist in this kiss.
Finally, he breaks the contact, and I suddenly register how much passion is coursing through this car like a fog we’re both breathing. I have to stop it or we’ll be tearing off each other’s clothes in no time. That can’t happen.
“You reek,” I mumble against his lips.
“Just fucking drive. You can soap me up at your place.”
A thrill runs through my veins as I pull away, trying to clear the fog from my head so I can put the car into drive and head toward the main road. On our way through the parking lot, my eyes meet Eric’s again, but not even the vision of him glaring at us can cool the fire raging through my body.
12
Cullen
Thank God it’s a short drive from the campus to her place because I don’t know if I could wait any longer. It was never supposed to be like this, but I’m not complaining.
As we pull up to her house, I pull her face to mine for another bruising kiss. She lets out a whimper as I wrap my hands tight around her sides, pinching her flesh as I shove my tongue into her mouth, desperate to own her body more than she owns it herself.
I can’t explain why kissing Everly has me so addicted to her taste. There’s just enough resistance with her hands pressing gently back against my body because I know her body wants what her mind doesn’t, and fuck, that turns me on.
When we finally pull apart, we both hurry to get out of the car and rush inside. She walks ahead of me in the house, and the sight of her ass in that little black pencil skirt has me on edge, so I grab her by the hair, jerking her backward. She lets out a cry as I crash my lips to her neck, nibbling, kissing, and biting. Her purse and keys drop to the floor and she clutches the edge of the kitchen counter for support.
Pressing myself against her backside, I want her to feel what she does to me. She answers with a shove backward, grinding herself on my dick.
“Shower, now,” I grunt, smacking her hard on the ass.
There’s a gleam of hesitation in her eye as she turns toward me. I know what she’s thinking. She’s searching my expression for a sign I’m going to fuck her, and as much as I want to—and I want to—I’m not. Not yet. I love the holding out, the making her want it. The fight for anything that gives us relief.
With a hand in my waistband, she pulls me toward the bathroom. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes hooded with lust, like it’s the single thought on her mind—need, want, lust. When we reach the master bathroom, she turns to flip on the shower before spinning back toward me to pull up my shirt.
It’s the first time she’s really taken control, letting herself express how much she wants me, and I like it. Everly wants me, and even though it’s not like she’s the first woman to want me, the attention warms a part of me that felt cold and dead before.
Our reflection in the mirror catches my attention, and I turn to see us. She’s still in her work clothes, the top of her head only coming to my chin while I’m shirtless with my tattoos and white hair. We are mismatched. She’s nothing like the usual girls I hook up with who flaunt a lot more skin than Everly and have faces covered in make-up. But this woman is delicate, natural and gorgeous in a completely different way. We look like we belong with two totally different people, and for some reason, I try to memorize this image of us together. The whole picture is all wrong, and there’s something fucking beautiful in that.
While I’m staring at the mirror, she glides her hands along my abs and up to my pecs, skimming her fingers softly over my nipples, toying with the barbells through each one. And even though my skin is still covered in a thin sheen of sweat, she leans forward and kisses my chest.
I groan, building softly from the base of my chest, growing louder as her mouth finds my nipple and her teeth bite the piercing there.
Fuck, I’m not going to make it.
Her tongue travels across my tattooed chest and up to my collarbone like she’s tasting me, enjoying the flavor in her mouth, and I capture her lips again, kissing her harshly. Her fingers peel down my shorts, and my cock bounces out, slapping her on the belly as she does.
Just when I expect her to touch it, she doesn’t. Instead, her hands glide down my ass and over my thighs as she presses my shorts and boxers to the floor. I flip off my sneakers and reach down to tear off my socks until I’m standing naked in front of her.
She’s toying with me, touching me everywhere but where I want, so I grab her by the back of her neck, noticing the wicked way she smiles as I do because she knows. She knows I’m pissed with the way she’s denying me.
“You better fucking touch it, Everly, or I’m going to shove it down your throat.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” she replies in a breathy cry.
Without denying me any longer, she wraps her soft hand around my cock, squeezing it tightly at the base, and I clench my jaw, shoving my hips forward so I can find some friction.
“Get naked now.”
With that devious smirk on her face, she pulls her shirt over her head and unclasps her bra quickly. Getting my first full view of Everly’s tits, my mouth waters. She’s really perfect, long limbs and soft curves that make me want to grab a handful of every inch of her body.
And that’s what I do. The process of tearing off her panties and shorts is not graceful in the least because I’m too ravenous for her, hungry to touch her everywhere, no have this part of her—the most intimate, private part of Everly West, the woman responsible for my undoing. She belongs to me, mine to fuck, touch, break, play with. A wicked sense of power rushes over me as I grab her body and pull it against mine. I could do anything with her, and it’s a sensation I’m getting high on.