Page 68 of Red Card


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Another photo, but this time, it’s just her face as she holds up her latest cross-stitch, a sweet smile on her face.

Christ, she’s so bloody pretty.

Cheeks rosy pink, almost the same shade as her plump lips, and her eyes warm, rich chocolate as she gazes into the camera.

Followed by another text asking me to come over with a tongue out emoji.

And even though it’s after midnight when I read the message, and I’ve got economics at eight a.m., I find myself at her apartment, standing on her doorstep.

I can’t help myself. It’s like I’ve had one single taste and now I’m addicted and desperate for another.

Or maybe it’s because I like being around her. I like how everything seems quieter when I’m with her. I like laughing with her.

If I’m being honest I like everything about her.

It takes her only a moment to answer the door, almost as if she was waiting for me.

There’s a lazy smile on her face as she peers up at me through her thick, dark lashes. “Hi.”

Her hair is down and wet from a shower, and when she swings the door open wider, I get a whiff of her sweet floral scent and nearly groan.

I’m starting to realize how fucked I am. Lately, all I’ve been thinking of is Rory, and that’s a problem.

I can’t afford distractions. I can’t lose focus on the reason I’m here.

“St. James.”

Blinking up at me, she draws her plush pink lip between her teeth and reaches for me, fisting her hands in the front of my shirt and hauling me inside.

I slam the front door shut with my foot as she drags me through the apartment, only stopping when we make it down the hall.

I open my mouth to speak, and she crashes into me, her lips slamming into mine. I can taste the minty flavor of her toothpaste as her tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips, demanding access. Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging me closer to her, and my arms wind around her waist, hauling her tiny body nearer until she’s pressed tightly to my front.

I never expected her to be as brazen as she is, but fuck, I love it.

Although she’s hesitant and explorative in her touch, there’s nothing shy or meek about it. Rory knows exactly what she wants, and even though it might not be something she’s done a thousand times, she’s assured.

Or at least she is with me, and that has a surge of possessiveness swirling in my chest.

My palms slide down the small of her back to the swell of her ass, and she moans into my mouth, pulling roughly at my hair. Something I’m starting to learn she’s into.

Imagine when I’ve got my face buried in between her thighs, lapping at her pussy. How much she’ll love pulling my hairthen.

Fuck, I have to slow this down.

I tear my lips from hers, rearing back as I pant. “Did you ask me to come over just so I could make you come, St. James?” My mouth twitches, drinking in her blown pupils, flushed cheeks that have pink creeping down her neck, and swollen lips. Her tongue darts out, skimming the bottom one, and I almost say fuck it. Fuck going slow.

I’m so bloody tempted to haul her over my shoulder, carry her into the bedroom, and not let her out until the sun rises and she’s come ten times.

On my tongue, my fingers, my cock.

“Why are you stopping?” she asks, peering up at me with her hands resting on my stomach. Her fingers slip beneath the fabric of my hoodie and trail down my abs, causing them to tighten and coil beneath her touch.

The little bit of restraint I have left is slowly fraying, but goddamn it I’m trying.

“Because… I want to talk.”

Her brow knits together. “Talk about what?”