Page 53 of Red Card


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I don’t want to stop.

I want to give in, fucking finally, and have my fill of the girl who’s been plaguing my dreams every night.

My gaze slides over Rory, drinking in her still-wet hair, which is hanging around her shoulders after her shower, to the baggy maroon sweatshirt she has on and down to those tiny fucking shorts I’m convinced she wears just to torture me, all the way to the expanse of creamy, silky skin of her bare thighs.

I’m fucked.

Why?

Because I want Rory St. James. Preferably on her knees while those plump pink lips circle my cock, my hands fisted in her hair as she takes me down her throat. Or spread out on this couch, dark hair haloed around her while I drag my tongue up her soaked cunt until she comes, coating my face. Or even on her knees while I take her from behind, fucking her so goddamn deep that I can see the imprint of my cock in her stomach.

And I know wanting her, wanting all those things, is going to complicate everything.

I’m beyond bloody aware of that.

Only it doesn’t seem to change the fact that the second I’m around her, I want to touch her. Kiss her. Taste her. Do everything that I’ve been thinking about for the past week without coming up for air.

Just like I almost did two nights ago when I had to play my feelings off like it was a fucking test and not me being weak and almost giving in to this insane need.

Fake date or not… it was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. It was fun being with her, and it would’ve been the perfect end to a perfect night if I just could’ve bloody kissed her as badly as I wanted to.

It feels like Rory is the only person who sees me just as clearly as I see her. She doesn’t judge my past or throw it in my face. She doesn’t make me feel like I’ll only ever be the reputation that I’m desperately trying to leave behind.

“Okay, sooo, what are we starting with?” She huffs as she flops down beside me onto the couch, crossing her legs and resting the bowl of popcorn in her lap. “Something juicy?”

I clear my throat like I wasn’t just having a fucking daydreamabout having her beneath me and pull my phone out of the pocket of my sweatpants. I find Aisling’s message with the list of romance movies.

Never in my life did I think I’d be watching one by choice, but Rory thought it would be good for her to watch and learn—see people falling in love. In lust. In action. What better than a romance?

Even if it’sjusta movie.

“I’ve got no clue what any of these are, so I guess we’ll just go with the first one,” I say as I lock my phone and set it down on the couch beside me.

“Perfect. Popcorn?” She extends the bowl toward me.

I shake my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

What I really want to say is I’m having a hard time focusing now that she’s sitting so close and I can smell the sweet floral scent of her bodywash, and it makes my dick ache.

Clearly, there’s a pattern here.

But I don’t, and I keep my gaze glued to the tube, feigning interest in the bloody rom-com because the alternative isn’t happening.

The story isn’t bad, and the acting is decent enough that I somehow end up slightly interested in what’s going to happen. When the couple on the screen collides in a frantic, desperate kind of kiss, I feel Rory shifting on the cushion beside me, a few breathy sighs tumbling from her lips as the scene progresses. The heat of her bare skin blazing through my joggers, making my body run hot.

“I’ve been thinking… What happens if I ever make it past the flirting? Uh… the other night, you pretending you wanted to kissme, it made me think about theafter,” she murmurs, and I whip my head to the side to look at her.

Her lips are parted, the tip of her finger tracing her bottom lip as she tears her gaze from the TV and looks at me. My eyes drop to the pattern her finger traces on her plump lip, unable to stop myself before raising them to meet her gaze. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I mean, I’m practicing to be better at flirting and getting out of the friend zone, but what happens when Iactuallymake it past that? How am I going to, you know… be great at kissing, or any of the stuff that comes once I actually get a guy?”

Before I can even respond, she’s turning, angling her body toward me and capturing her lip between her teeth. There’s a nervous edge to her words. “I’ve only had one sloppy, drunken hookup in high school that was absolutely the biggest letdown of my life, and so I’m just saying… I don’t have much to go on. If my previous experience was anything to judge by.”

“You just kind of know what to do, St. James. There’s not a manual or a class to take on how to kiss properly,” I say with a slight hitch of my shoulder at the same time I reach up and rub my palm across my mouth. For fuck’s sake, hearing her admit all this is doing nothing for my desire to touch her. “It’s the kind of thing you have to be in the moment for, letting instinct take over.”

A shuddering exhale slips past her lips, then she looks back at the TV, watching the couple on the screen make a go of it. The bloke has the female love interest pressed against the shower wall as he fucks her, tracing his tongue along her neck while she whimpers and writhes against the tile.

When I glance back at Rory, her cheeks are stained bright pink, and her lips are parted as she watches. She’s completely flushed.