Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men 9)

He hadn’t laughed or smiled on the first day of class when that other floozy had flirted with him. But here he was now, laughing with the blonde, while he had something going on with me on the side.

That just wasn’t acceptable. Bitch better keep her hands off.

Before I could rationally think past anything but claiming him so she would disappear, I stormed into action, marching forward, straight up to him so that I had to brush past her to get right into his face. And then I kept going, grabbing the front of his shirt and fisting it into my hand as I stepped up onto my toes and jerked his face down to my level.

“Wha...?” His gaze registered shock that whole split second before my mouth collided with his. And then he kind of tightened against me before he seemed to realize who was kissing him.

At first, I was hard and demanding, my mouth punishing him for even looking at another woman. But then he relaxed against me. His fingers grazed the side of my neck. And his lips softened against mine before parting and sweeping his tongue into me.

When a strangled, hungry groan rose from his throat, I felt settled and infinitely calmer.

I broke away, gently and slowly, backing off just enough to look into his heavy-lidded, aroused gaze. Then I let go of my grip on his shirt and smoothed my fingers down his chest.

“You’re still planning on coming over Thursday, right?”

He blinked once before breaking into a sly grin. “Nowhere else I’d rather come.”

“Good.” Unable to help myself, I glanced at the bimbo, the meaning in my gaze absolutely clear.

This territory was mine, honey. The flag had just been planted.

Receiving the message, she was already backing away, her shiny golden hair no longer in her hand. “Well, I...I’ll talk to you about the assignment later. Bye, Colton.?

?

He waved. “See you, Jess.”

I watched her hurry away, clutching a pile of books to her chest before I turned back to him and lifted an eyebrow. “Jess, huh?”

“Hmm?” He’d been checking out my cleavage before lifting his face. “Yeah. Jessica. She’s in my history class. I like your top. Very colorful, and tight in the most perfect places ever.”

I ignored the compliment. “You have history with her, huh?”

He stared at me a moment before a smile spread across his face. “You’re jealous.”

I sniffed because I had to hide the fact I was suddenly embarrassed to realize that yes, I was jealous. Extremely, blindly, irrationally jealous.

“Of Jessica the tiny blonde bimbo?” I said, though. “Honey, I don’t think so.”

With a chuckle, he slid his hands around my waist until he was sinking them into the back pockets of my jeans and tugging me forward against him. “She’s not a bimbo,” he murmured, his grin way too freaking smug for my liking. “She’s actually really smart. We’re on the dean’s list together.”

“Oh? So you’re in history and on the dean’s list with her?” Mad he was changing his story about just how well he knew Jessica, I tried to shove at his chest to make space between us, but the bastard only snickered and tugged me closer until my hips crashed flush against his, and shit, I felt the stirrings of a hard-on coming from him.

God! He was getting aroused about pissing me off. Not cool.

“Yep, we’re on the dean’s list together, plus we share a history class and English 101.” Lifting his brow, he widened his eyes and whispered, “Scandalous, isn’t it?”

“You are such a jerk.” I shoved at him again to no avail. “Why don’t you and your perfect, blonde genius just—”

“Do nothing together,” he finished for me, leaning in until our noses touched. “We do nothing together but talk about school. Like just now, we were talking about the history term paper the professor went over today. But, wow, I kind of like this hot, angry jealousy thing you have going on. Are you going to spank me for talking to another girl?” When he wiggled his eyebrows and added, “Please,” I slapped his chest.

“Shut up.”

He caught my hand and kissed the knuckles. “I actually meant a smack on the ass, not the chest, but...if this makes you hot, baby...”

I growled, upset because I wanted to swing at him again, except now I couldn’t after that comment.

“On a scale of the Sahara Desert to Niagara Falls,” he asked, his voice changing timbre. “How wet are you right now?”