And despite every last drop of my better judgment telling me otherwise, I don’t think I’m ready to get on the plane yet.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back into the couch and Brady’s obscenely large bicep, knowing that I’m sealing my fate as his prize for the night.
And as soon as I do, the tentative burning feeling between my legs ignites into a wildfire. Every inch of me below my neck is suddenly so eager to feel Brady’s hands on me that I immediately start breathing heavily enough for him to notice.
And he definitely notices. Instead of barely refraining from groping me, his hand moves way down my side, practically down to my ass.
“Well, don’t you fucking worry, little fangirl. Because you’re about to have the time of your fucking life.”
Ugh, he’s so arrogant. Why the hell is this turning me on?
He shamelessly grabs my thigh, and, without thinking about it, a deep, breathy moan escapes my lungs. And before I can breathe in again, my eyes widen in shock as Brady’s mouth comes down to smother mine.
But the shock only lasts a second before it’s forcefully pushed aside by the fire between my legs that’s rapidly consuming my whole body. I kiss him defiantly, like an act of rebellion against years of note-taking, studying, and boring classes.
I think the Responsible Cassie Express just went completely off the rails.
Like a completely different person, I reach up and press my palm into the back of his messy, spiky black hair, hungrily pulling his head into mine as hard as I can. And as I do, he responds, consuming me with his lips and tongue as his huge hands start to explore my body.
He shifts on the couch, using his massive torso to shield us from any prying eyes out in the lounge as his hands find his number, 99, on my chest, running up the tails of the 9s and greedily pushing hard against the breasts beneath them. He’s insanely forceful with my body as he kisses me harder, probably because he knows this is exactly how the type of girl who wears the jersey of a guy like him loves to be treated.
We’re going to leave together soon. I can feel it. After all, as much as Brady loves that I’m wearing his jersey, there’s no way a guy like this wants to wait one more second before ripping it off me. But as I move my hand up Brady’s legs, I feel something that almost stops my heart brush my knuckles. Something hard.
Something huge.
That’s not his cock, is it? I mean, it can’t be. There’s no way. I may not officially be a doctor yet, but that’s not medically possible. My hand hesitates on his thigh, pushing against the bulging muscle as I mentally prepare myself to take things further.
And then, from behind me, I hear the tiniest, faintest little beeping noise, the auditory equivalent of a lighthouse way off in the distance. My phone. I don’t want to answer it. I really, really don’t want to answer it. But it might be Kendall. So against every instinct I have, I reach an arm out behind me and fish out my phone, breaking off from kissing Brady just long enough to check my phone.
Crap, it’s Moose Lodge. Furrowing my brow, I tap through to the email they just sent, fighting to keep my eyes open as Brady sends a hand up between my legs, pressing against the source of my heat through my jeans. They want me…oh…they want me to…apply for resident housing.
And they want me to do it by 9AM tomorrow.
Suddenly, the cold shower of reality explodes down onto my head. I have no idea why they sent me this at this hour, but I need to get this done. And it doesn’t look like something I can do in five seconds from Brady’s bed. And if I stay here…he’s probably going to be still going to be inside me at 9AM tomorrow.
Awkwardly, but forcefully, I pull away from Brady, knowing that if I allow myself even one second of hesitation, I’m going to give in completely and give myself to him.
“What’s up?” He asks, a confused look on his face, “Is it because we’re in public, because we can change that—”
Instantly, I turn around and walk the other way as fast as I can. My eyes are completely fixed on the stairs back to the dance floor, because I know that if I look back at Brady for even a second, I won’t be able to resist him. I can’t even explain what’s going on, because with even the tiniest bit of convincing, I know I’m going to forget all about a little detail like, you know, where I’m going to live for the next year to get his big, strong hand back between my aching thighs.
With every step more difficult than the last, I make my way down the blacklit hallway and out onto the dance floor, where the crowd has dispersed just enough for me to move between the couples pawing at each other on the dance floor and find Kendall sitting at the bar. She’s chatting up a tall bearded guy in a San Diego Kings hat, but when she sees me, she cocks her head to the side in confusion. “What happened? He didn’t ditch you, did he?”
“I ditched him,” I whisper, “Moose Lodge emailed me, and they want me to fill out an application by tomorrow morning. I have to go.”
Kendall’s jaw drops. “You mean you actually—”
“Yeah, but I’m going to go. You can stay if you want to keep—”
“Hell no!” She says, throwing a couple dollars on the bar and gathering her things, “We need to talk about this now.”
Pulling a black marker out of her purse, she sloppily writes her number on the bearded guy’s forearm. “Alright, we’ll pick this up later, but I have to go!”
And just like that, we’re out on the street, heading towards the banana-colored cab idling on the curb. The line to get in stretches all the way down the block, and as we walk, two guys wearing Brady Mack jerseys cheer when they see me.
“This girl knows what’s up!” One of them says, going up for a high five. I high five him, and he breaks into a wide grin. “Brady Mack is a fucking savage!”
I let out a little laugh, then look back over my shoulder at the second floor of the club.
Oh, he’s a savage, alright. And you two don’t know the half of it.
***
Savage: A Pro Football Romance is available on Amazon now, and it’s FREE with Kindle Unlimited! Read the whole thing here!
About The Author
Michaela Scott has a thing for alpha males, billionaires, and bad boys with good hearts. It’s no wonder her female characters are always getting involved with them. When she’s not writing about messy, passionate, unlikely romances, she’s at home, spending time with her own personal alpha male and trying not to use him as inspiration.
Hitched: A Stepbrother Honeymoon Romance Page 17
