Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
My phone rings as I’m sliding into the driver’s seat. It’s Harrison, who’s back in Las Vegas now. As a freelancer, he can work from anywhere as long as he has his laptop and an internet connection, but he can’t keep paying rent on his Vegas apartment while also paying to stay in the motel on the outskirts of Hastings. He’s coming back for a visit this weekend, though, and I’ve tentatively agreed to go see him in Vegas for spring break, depending on how it’s going with my capstone.
Normally I would take his call. Tonight, I hit Ignore. I’m in a crappy mood, and I know he’ll hear it in my voice. He’ll ask what’s wrong, I’ll end up telling him I’m annoyed with Agatha, and then he’ll make a derisive comment about it, because anytime I mention my sorority, he always has something snarky-adjacent to say.
He doesn’t get it. He thinks Greek life is all a big, irrelevant performance. I don’t entirely blame him—a lot of people feel that way about sororities and frats. And maybe the Greek experience is a bit ridiculous, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about it.
You don’t care about it, my inner bitch cracks. Mom does.
Ugh. Fine. Whatever. So what if I’m here because of my mother? It makes her happy that I’m a Delta Pi. I like making her happy.
But I’m not about to tell Harrison that. It would only trigger a fresh dose of resentment in him. Whenever we talk, I do my best to steer away from the topic of my family.
And I still haven’t told my family about him. The burden of that secret keeps getting heavier, and I know the longer I keep it from them, the worse it will be when I finally tell them.
I’m pulling out of the parking spot when the pressure wave threatens to surface. Suddenly, the world feels like it’s closing in on me from all sides. I put the car in park and take a deep breath, visualizing my container.
Put all the stress in there, Charlotte. There you go.
But I can’t fully close the box. It keeps bursting open at the seams.
I’m too full.
Or maybe the issue is I’m not full enough.
As in I need to be filled. By Will Larsen or Beckett Dunne or both.
I need to be in a place where I don’t have to pretend or keep up appearances. Somewhere I can just be me. I feel like I spend so much time fighting myself. My own nature. I don’t have to do that when I’m with my boys. They get me. And the more time I spend with them, the more I’m starting to get them.
The drive to Hastings and the walk to their front stoop is a blur. By the time I ring the doorbell, I’m buzzing with pent-up frustration. A live wire ready to detonate.
When Will opens the door, I waste no time rushing inside.
“Take your pants off,” I order. “Now.”
“What? Why?”
“I need it.” I release a strangled sound of impatience. Desperation. “Now, Will.”
Although he chortles loudly, he doesn’t need to be asked twice. And that’s how I end up in their living room, getting fucked from behind by Will, who grips my hips tight enough to hurt. I’m draped over Beckett’s lap, his long fingers twisting my hair around his fist as he guides my mouth up and down his cock.
Will reaches around and rubs my clit. He bends over me, changing the angle of penetration, and I cry out, the orgasm blasting through my body. The boys aren’t far behind me.
Afterward, I collapse on top of Beckett, catching my breath for a moment before climbing off the couch and ducking into the hall bathroom to clean up.
When I return, I find two Briar hockey players staring at me in disbelief.
“What?” I say.
“What do you mean, what?” Beckett chuckles. “You just blew in here like a tornado and fucked our brains out. No explanation?”
“Do you need an explanation when the end result is you getting laid?”
“Good point.”
Rather than put on my own clothes, I grab Will’s discarded T-shirt and slip it over my head. The soft material falls past my knees. It smells like him, that heady, spicy scent I can’t get enough of.
Beckett tugs me back onto his lap. I rest my head against his shoulder as Will grabs my legs and pulls them into his own lap. Will rubs my right foot, and I groan from the pleasurable sensation.
They’re both still shirtless, but their dicks are tucked back into their sweatpants, condoms disposed of. I love how neither of them batted an eye at me showing up on a Wednesday night demanding sex like a crazed, wide-eyed lunatic.
“So I don’t usually discuss exes with guys I’m seeing,” I tell them, “but I just want to say thank you for taking my libido in stride.”