He began pounding into me.

I gasped, arching my chest out.

Shay leaned up, his hands finding my hips, and he went harder and harder.

I hurtled over the edge, falling down onto the bed. I caught myself, as his hand skimmed my back. He kissed me tenderly, and then he finished.

We stayed in place. I was bent over. He was holding himself upright, his hand resting on my ass, and then he bent over me. His lips grazed my shoulder, and he pulled out, falling to the bed beside me.

I was panting for breath.

He was, too, and he curled an arm around my waist, spooning me from the back. He fit alongside me, molding his body to mine as his arms wrapped tightly around me. I lie there, riding out the tremors of my climax as he peppered my bare shoulder with slow, lazy kisses.

After a moment, once our breathing had returned to normal, he slipped his leg between mine and buried his head into my shoulder.

“So.” He kissed my neck softly. “We did that.”

I laughed, patting his hand tucked under my breast. “Is that what we did?”

He chuckled into me, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of him. “Something like that.” He rested on his back, loosening his hold on me, and I turned over so I was lying on my side, facing him. I rested a hand on his chest, and his eyes watched mine until his hand found my own.

I murmured, “I don’t regret that.”

He hooked his finger around mine. “Really?”

I nodded. I couldn’t, not anymore. Not after we made out in my closet, then my bed, and after I was practically begging him for it at the bar.

I croaked, “I touched your bulge.”

He started laughing, curving more into me. “You did.”

“It was the most momentous and memorable part of the night.”

I was grinning.

He lifted his head. “Really?”

He wasn’t.

I nodded. “For sure. I became the definition of a wanton hussy.”

He started laughing again.

I kept going, “I can imagine all the stories that start with, ‘The day she touched my bulge’, or ‘The day I touched his bulge,’ ‘The moment my hand felt his jeans, and his dick swelled underneath’, or even . . .” I was laughing now, “‘I laid my hands on him, right over his jeans, and he rose up. He answered my call. I called out, Come forth, hard penis, and answer milady’s beckoning. My hips call upon your touch. You must heed and give forth plentiful of your pleasure.’”

He continued laughing, wrapping his arms around me, and somehow he had curled his entire body around mine again. I was lying on my back once more, and he stopped, lifting his head from my neck. He gazed down at me, shifting to rise up on his elbow. He caught some hairs and tucked them behind my ear, letting his hand linger there, holding me gently.

He grew serious. “I want to keep doing this.”

I rested my hand over his on my face. “Fucking me from behind?”

He grinned and then sobered. “No. This, whatever it is. We don’t need to put words to it, if you don’t want to.”

I groaned. “Please, don’t. I tend to get bitchy when words are applied to situations.” I sobered a bit and let the joking slide. “I won’t date you.”

His eyes sharpened.

I added, “But I’m okay with this.” Good gracious, my body was already going through withdrawals. A renewed need was rising, but I pushed it off. “Maybe we can talk about it, as in we’re making plans to do more of this, but no real talking otherwise.”

He shook his head, grinning. “You’re like a guy’s wet dream. Do you realize that?”

I smiled, shrugging. “I like to think I’m my own wet dream.”

He groaned, his lips finding mine again. He pulled back a moment later. “Are you sure about this?”

Moment of truth? I said, “No.” His eyes held mine, and I clarified, “But I don’t care right now.” I grabbed his head, found his lips with mine, and it wasn’t long before we were both groaning again.

The stairs creaked under my weight, and I paused for the thirtieth time that morning.

“What are you doing?”

I sucked in my breath and looked up. Shay was at the top of the stairs, shirtless, and his sweats rested deliciously low on his hips. I managed a smile. “Experiencing a new term called ‘stairway of shame.’” I cracked a grin. “I’m going to call a cab to avoid that one.”

He groaned, scratching his chest idly. “Get your cute ass up here. I’ll change. We’ll get breakfast. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“You have your Jeep here?”

He nodded, yawning. “I got a ride to the bar last night.” He motioned for me to follow him. “Come on. I could use a shower, too.”

I followed him and somehow found myself in the shower with him, grabbing on to the showerhead as Shay was thrusting inside me ten minutes later.

I gasped, and he adjusted his hands, holding me upright as I tightened my legs around his waist.

After we both climaxed—which was another whole holy-fuck-shit-mother-of-God moment—my legs were definitely weaker, I fell to his bed and rolled onto my back. “Your dick is out of me, and I swear that I’m feeling withdrawals.”

He barked out a laugh, reaching into his closet. He pulled out another pair of sweats and a couple of shirts. He tossed a sweatshirt my way, along with a smaller pair of black pants. I asked, “What’s this?”

“I’m taking you to breakfast. Figured you wouldn’t want to wear the same clothes from yesterday.”

He had a point. Mine had smells I didn’t want to identify. I pushed onto my elbows so I could watch him as he began pulling on his sweats and sweatshirt.

I groaned, falling back down. “You’re going to ruin me. I just know it.”

He laughed, tossing my bra and underwear at me. “Do you want those?”

I grabbed them and wrinkled my nose. They were filled with smoke from the bar, but they’d have to do. I wasn’t willing to be completely willy-nilly. Sitting up, I started to dress.

My entire body was satiated. I hadn’t felt like this since a really hard workout, and I’m talking my senior year. I was feeling the same effects, even some of the same sore spots, but this one had been so worth it.

A few minutes later, we headed down the stairs as Shay explained that a few other football players lived on the same floor with him. The house was divided so each floor was like its own apartment, but the biggest kitchen and living room were on the main floor. While some might use the second floor or third floor’s living room, the main floor was the main hub of the house.

I asked, as we went down the stairs, “What floor are you on?”

His hand touched my waist. “We’re on the third. The least amount of rooms and the most privacy.”

We were nearing the door that attached the stairway to the main floor and the kitchen. I could hear voices, male and female, along with dishes and chairs scraping over the floor. Someone was coming toward us, and as we got to the end, Shay leaned around me and flicked the lock on the door. The knob turned, and we heard, “Who locked this door?”

Shay urged me outside, and we hurried.

Once we got on the driveway and walked to the street, he explained, “I didn’t want to deal with a lot of ribbing this morning.”

I shrugged. I was okay with that.

He caught my hand and led me the rest of the way to his Jeep Wrangler. Fifteen minutes later, we were heading inside a little diner.

I knew we should have a real talk, but I didn’t want to. I knew who this guy was. He was near a celebrity at our school, and he was sleeping with me. It wasn’t normal for a guy like him to be with a girl like me, but it was happening. Maybe I hated him at the beginning because I knew this was where we were going, or maybe because I could sense he’d affect me. Or maybe it really was because he reminded me of Parker.

I tilted my head, considering him . . .

Shay looked up from his menu. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” And that was the answer to my internal question. Nothing. I couldn’t find anything in him that was like Parker, except that he was the last guy I had between my legs. Maybe that counted? Maybe that was the reason for my dislike?