Page 9 of Mr. Risky

But he had put a hand between my thighs, to where our bodies met, in a sticky and sandy mess, and he began to rub, and then I couldn’t get away. . . I felt something tightening like a ball inside me.

“Why do you think he’s out here?” her friend Peyton said, as I buried my head in his chest, trying desperately to stop the small squeaks spilling from my lips.

“I don’t know, but I don’t know where he is. I thought I saw him come this way.”

“It’s the night before your wedding. You don’t want to see the groom anyway, do you?”

“I guess not.”

The pain was beginning to fade in earnest now, almost gone in the pleasure of each thrust, each one taking me almost to the peak, but then dragging me away from it.

Then I heard Hayden’s voice.

“You sure about this, Pippa? Want me to do a little more digging on this guy? Make sure he is who he says he is.”

Their voices were fading away, but I heard Pippa very clearly tell her brother in a blistering voice what she thought about that idea.

And then I couldn’t hold out any longer.

“You better be quiet,” Granger hissed wickedly in my ear. “If you’re too loud, she might hear you.”

I moaned in agony, but I buried my face deeper into his skin, his open shirt making it possible to taste him, and I even dared to stick my tongue out a little bit, taste the forbidden pleasures of his flesh.

And then I came, arching my back until it cramped, toe-curling pleasure that suffused my whole body. Granger still had one hand on my leg and he thrust inside so deeply my whole body curved up, and then I felt tears leak from my eyes as he released inside me, the last of my shuddering tremors dripping all over the cum he was splashing inside me.

I shivered to think if I hadn’t been on the Patch, we could’ve gotten pregnant right away. . .

“You didn’t tell me you were a virgin,” Granger said, pinching my chin as I took deep, shuddering breaths.

My knees were so weak I could barely stand up.

“I wasn’t,” I protested.

“Don’t lie to me, Sosie, you’re a shitty liar. Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Back to my hotel room.”

I could barely keep up, stumbling after him, feeling like the stars in my eyes must be visible from blocks away.

He was staying in a small motel at the very end of Main Street, a very dated 1960’s style place, with tiny wood-paneled rooms and avocado fridges.

I could have stood on my morals and refused to go in with him. Refused to do something that would have hurt my friend if she ever found out.

But I didn’t. I would have followed him anywhere.

Granger opened the door and pulled me right in after him, and I didn’t fight. I didn’t object.

Instead I put my arms eagerly around his throat, loving how those corded muscles felt under my fingers, and I raised my lips for his kiss. . .

The insistent buzz of his cellphone woke me up the next morning.

I was aching between my legs so badly, blinking blearily even though my eyes felt glued shut.

How many times had we had sex last night?

I felt weak and wrung-out with pleasure.

He had taken me hard and I’d loved every filthy minute of it.

But who had texted him?