When Sinners Play (Sinners of Hawthorne University 1)

My body is better prepared for him this time, already acquainted with the length and girth of his cock, and we both groan as he bottoms out inside me.

“Hands on the wall,” he orders, and I do it without a single thought.

His hands fall to my hips, fingers digging into the flesh there as he tugs me backward a little, forcing me to hinge at the waist. My face and breasts leave the wall, and my fingernails practically claw at the brick as I work to keep my balance.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, his hips slapping against my ass as he begins to drive into me hard and fast. “What are you doing to me?”

I moan in response, arching my back more in invitation as my mouth falls open slightly.

His hunger is like a living thing. I can feel it radiating from him, feel the force of it in every thrust, every shift of his grip on my hips as our bodies collide over and over.

It’s hard.

Fast.

Brutal.

He fucks me like a death row inmate eating his last meal—vicious and ravenous, determined to leave nothing behind.

And when he comes, he wraps an arm around my torso and hauls me upright, pressing my back to his chest as his other hand finds my clit. All it takes is a few circles of his fingertips and I’m fucking done for, falling over the edge with him as he throbs inside me.

We both collapse forward a little, and I put my hands on the wall again to catch us, wondering dazedly if his legs are as wrecked as mine are. I can feel his heart slamming against my back, and I miss the steady rhythm of it as he pulls away.

His fingertips ghost over my back, and I realize he’s tracing the outline of the tattoo on my shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Then he slides out of me and turns me around, pressing my back to the rough brick before fixing our clothes. This time, there’s nothing to wipe up his cum with, but I can’t even pretend I fucking care.

When we’re somewhat put back together again, he takes my face in his hands, threading his fingers through my hair. And then he kisses me.

It’s not as heated or frantic as any of our other kisses. Instead, it’s just deep.

Bone deep.

Soul deep.

Bottom of the fucking ocean deep.

My hands come up to cling to his, and I’m practically up on my tiptoes as my body strains to take the kiss just a little, impossibly, deeper.

When our lips finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine for a second, and for the first time since I caught sight of him in the bar, I don’t sense the heavy cloud of pain that I recognized so well in him.

And in this moment, I don’t feel it in myself either.

I feel… peaceful.

Gray lets out a deep breath. His lips press to mine in a kiss that could almost be called chaste if he hadn’t just fucked me raw next to a dumpster.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Then he backs away, shooting me one last lingering glance before leaving the alley.

4

Three Months Later

I don’t think about the day Jared died often.