When Sinners Play (Sinners of Hawthorne University 1)

He watches me with lust and rapt fascination coloring his features, and when he finally finds my clit with the pad of his thumb, all it takes is a few rough circles before I detonate again.

The pleasure is still cresting inside me, my pussy contracting in pulsing waves around his cock, when he flips me over onto my back in a flash. His hips pound into mine, balls slapping against my ass, as he finally lets himself go.

When he comes, he throws his head back, the muscles of his neck straining and his veins throbbing as he grinds his hips against mine, emptying himself inside me. Then he collapses on top of me before rolling us over so that my body rests on his.

“Wrecked.”

He mutters the word so softly I almost don’t hear it.

I’m not even sure he knows he said it.

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

26

Will it ever not be like this?

The thought flits idly through my mind as I lie on top of Gray, our sweat-slicked skin sticking together as we catch our breath.

No matter what else is going on between us—whether we’re pissed at each other or annoyed with each other or locked in an unsteady truce—the chemistry between us never seems to fade. There’s never been a time when Gray touched me and my body didn’t respond as if he’d put a lit match to gasoline.

Is that what we are?

A flash fire? An explosion? Something that will flare up and burn out and leave n

othing but ash in its wake?

The rational part of my brain says yes. The logical part tells me to run, just like I always do when Gray and I get too close.

But I don’t think I can this time. For one thing, the fucker is so damn good at getting me off that I don’t think my legs work anymore. And for another… something feels different.

Gray’s arms are wrapped around me, his touch possessive and warm, and when I shift in his embrace, he makes a rumbling noise of complaint as if he’s not ready to let go yet.

Neither am I.

So I don’t.

Several quiet moments pass as our heartbeats even out and our breathing returns to normal. I’m just starting to drift off like a cat on his chest when Gray finally rolls me over, withdrawing his still half-hard cock as a gush of wetness trickles down my thigh. He doesn’t make a move to clean it up, and neither do I. He just tucks me against his body, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine.

“Sparrow?”

“Yeah?” I’m still in that foggy place between asleep and awake. I have no fucking idea what time it is—maybe not even lunch yet—but I’m worn out, ready for a nap.

“I’m sorry.”

My eyes pop open, my heart giving a little jolt in my chest. Every bit of tiredness in my body has been banished by those two words. Words I never, ever expected to hear from the man lying next to me.

I crane my neck a little to look up at him, my brows furrowed, but Gray isn’t looking at me. He’s staring up at the ceiling with a distant gaze that reminds me of the day we first met, when he stepped inside The Silent Hour and took a seat at the bar.

“For what?” I ask after a silence that drags on for several moments.

“Everything.”

There’s a roughness to his voice, as if the words he’s speaking have been locked up inside him for so long that they’ve started to break down.

He keeps looking up at the ceiling, his blue-green eyes haunted, but the arm he has wrapped around me keeps me pressed close to his side. I study his face carefully, my heart still beating hard in my chest.

Everything is certainly a lot of things.