“So...” I swallow. “Where do we start?”
“How about with the bed.”
“Hmm?” I whimper.
His lips twitch. “Help me make the bed, Ava.”
“Oh. Right.” Shit. I may not make it out of here in one piece. At least not with my dignity still intact.
He moves to the other side of the bed and tosses me a clean fitted sheet, which I start to pull over the mattress. Silently, we fit the rest of the bed, but I’m aware of his eyes on me, watching, but not saying anything.
When we’re done, I say without thinking, “There, all ready for your next conquest.”
I see him tense. “I don’t have girls up here, Ava.”
“Yeah, right.” I lean down to pick up another book, this one the Queen of Spades by Pushkin and shaking my head at his unique literary choices place it on the dresser beside Tolstoy.
When I turn, Andy is right there, inches from me, the heat of his body pulling me like a magnet.
Danger, my brain warns. But I’ve been listening to my brain for twenty-one years. Maybe it’s time I let my body make a few choices.
“I don’t bring girls up here, Ava,” he repeats.
“I’m here.”
He nods. “You are.”
Intense, primal, he dips his head, his eyes dark with hunger. He’s the bad boy my mother warned me about, but the funny thing is, I want him to have his way with me.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Ava,” he says, cupping my jaw, tilting my face towards his.
Run, my brain screams. Stay, my body demands.
“My friends warned me about you.”
His lips thin and he gives a small nod. “But you’re still here. Seconds away from me kissing you.”
I whimper. “I... I don’t--”
His mouth silences whatever protest my brain was trying to articulate. Lips crash against mine, and all reason, all sanity is gone. All that’s left is pleasure, and it races through me, igniting my core. Lips, tongues, hands, they dance in an uncontrolled rhythm. His hips grind between my thighs, and he lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and pressing my back against the door.
If I thought I understood the hunger in his gaze earlier, I was wrong. This is so much more.
I whimper when his hand goes under my shirt, rough, calloused palms connecting with my skin.
“Shit, Ava,” he says, pulling back slightly, meeting my gaze. “I didn’t mean to push you like this, I know you’re a--”
“Don’t say the word.” My cheeks warm in embarrassment. I’m not sure who told him, but I have my suspicions that it was Lola.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He still has me pressed against the door, his huge frame holding my weight easily. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”
But he will. Because I’ve already given this boy a part of my heart. And now I want to give him my body.
“Just... just be gentle.”
His eyes widen with the permission I’ve just given him. “You’re sure?”
I tug his head closer in response, taking his kiss, taking some control, and he groans against my mouth. He draws me to his freshly made bed and pulls me into his lap. I’m straddling him. I’m actually straddling Andy Stafford.
And oh, my god, it feels good.
“You feel that?” he asks as he lifts my flimsy tank top up over my head. He tosses it aside, adding it the pile of the rest of the laundry strewn about his room.
“I do,” I say in a whisper. His thick cock rubs against my pussy and I close my eyes, savoring the moment, the way it feels. So damn good.
His chest is bare, and our flesh connects. “You’re so beautiful, Ava.”
My eyes flutter open. I want to ask him if I’m so pretty why had he never bothered with me before, but before I can he’s unhooking my bra with an experienced hand. He eases the straps from my shoulder and groans in pleasure.
“Damn, I have no fucking clue why I waited so long to talk to you.”
My eyebrows raise, taking in his words. “Then why did you?”
He laughs gently, massaging my breasts with his large hands. “Are you kidding me? You’re way out of my league.”
“Says the guy with a contract with the NFL.”
He shakes his head and I see a flicker of sadness there. “That doesn’t define me.” I’ve never seen a vulnerable side to Andy. Not unless you count him dancing during our bet. He really put himself out there with that one.
But this is different.
“I’d think a guy like you--”
He cuts me off. “You don’t know me, Ava.”
I swallow, knowing he’s probably right. I have a lot of ideas about Andy Stafford but I’ve never been up close and personal with him. Not until right now.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re right.”
“Hey,” he says, his nose nudging mine. “It’s all good. Let’s not let anything ruin this moment. Okay, beautiful?”