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Pulling my hair.
Pushing my bra straps off my shoulders.
Unzipping his jeans.
Fuck, my skin burns. Not just from the images, but from the memory of his body against mine.
His hard cock between my legs.
All that denim was in the way, but the feel of it was enough to light up every nerve in my body.
Fuck, I'm twenty-two and I'm out of mind over an erection.
This isn't how it should be.
But I'm not letting Adam ruin any more of my sexual experiences.
Not even the solo ones.
I turn my computer off and I climb into bed. I don't bother with pretenses. I push my pajama bottoms to my knees and I slide my hand between my legs.
And I think of Mal.
I think of his soft lips.
Of his calloused fingers.
Of his hard cock between my legs.
Nothing in the way.
Just his flesh and mine.
Him filling me again and again.
Those low groans of his in my ears.
My name on his lips as he pins me to the bed and fucks me.
All weekend I work. I only break to eat, shower, head to the gym, and text Carrie (she's busy with her summer program but she's still dying to know about my secret editing project).
By six-thirty Sunday evening, I almost have the video cut together. I grab a glass of water and dive back into editing for long enough to fix the last few shots.
The doorbell rings.
Shit.
My gaze goes to my cell. It's a quarter to seven. I take a long look at my outfit—a crop top and high-waisted shorts—and deem it far too slutty for a work meeting. "You're early."
"And?" Mal's deep voice flows through my door.
"I told you not to come early."
"Then make me wait outside."
"You think I won't?"
He makes a noise that's exactly what a shrug would sound like if it had a sound.
