Every thrust is as delicious and as punishing as the last. The sound of slapping skin echoes around us, and his teeth sink into my lip as he grunts and moans, driving me harder into the wall.
The orgasm comes out of nowhere and hits me like a freight train, but he doesn’t pause; he doesn’t even slow down.
He lets me cry into his chest and claw at his shoulders, and when I finally stop spasming, his arm hooks under one leg and navigates it up to his shoulder, then repeats on the other side.
He’s folded me, supporting my entire weight in his two hands.Where did this man come from?The only thing I can think of right now is,Thank God I’m flexible, and he is strong.
“Such a tight little pussy, Anastasia. All for me.” He pants against my mouth. “You think you can get under my skin, mhmm? Do you think I don’t see the little game you’re playing? It’s my cock you come all over. Even when you wanna put another guy’s name on your back…It’s my name you fucking scream.”
Every word makes me grip him tighter, the angle, the frustration, the control, he’s destroying me. I’m bucking and wiggling against him. Every single cell in my body is wound tight and is ready for him to make me disintegrate.
I’m trying to hold off, not give him the satisfaction of thinking his little speech has any impact on me, but then he groans my name into my neck, and it’s so fucking erotic that my entire body betrays me.
I swear I’m seeing stars. My body tenses and melts and fucking bursts into flames because it feels so goddamn good, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.
His thrusts get sloppier, moans louder, and when his mouth crashes into mine, he slows, shuddering and cursing as he throbs inside of me, spilling into the condom.
His forehead falls to mine, and he releases my legs, lowering me back to my very, very wobbly feet. Our breathing is labored, his lips press to my forehead, and he inhales. “I like your cheerleader outfit.”
“Mhm.” It’s not even a response. It’s just a vague noise that sounds a bit like acknowledgment. He wasn’t joking when he asked about not being able to walk straight, but he didn’t say anything about not being able to formulate words.
Nathan’s arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, and when I look up at him, he’s got an annoyingly smug smirk on his face. When we reach the booth, Nate throws JJ’s jersey back at him, smacking him straight in his face. “I hope you like bag skating, you little shit.”
I smell like sex and I have sex hair, but I don’t have it in me to care. I tried to sort it out in the bathroom, but after a couple of minutes of trying to drag my fingers through it, I gave up.
The guys are shooting each other knowing looks when we reach for drinks glasses.
All but one.
“You should have been a minion like us,” Henry says, looking my outfit up and down, total disinterest on his face. “You’d be much comfier right now, and there would be no risk of us seeing your ass.”
He’s right and next year I’m wearing a minion onesie to the club. Nathan tugs me into his lap, pushing a drink into my hand, kissing my shoulder affectionately.
“Nobody is seeing your ass, Allen,” he whispers below my ear, making my entire body shiver. “I’m pretty sure there’s an indent of my hands on both cheeks.”
I see Brin walk into the booth out of the corner of my eye, and when I turn to face her, Aaron is right behind her, clutching his arm. Her eyes widen when she spots me and gives me a look that, after more than two years of friendship, I know says that shit is about to hit the fan.
I look at Aaron, giving him a welcoming smile, but he doesn’t return it. “Hey! I’m so glad you’re here. Are you okay?” My eyes flick back to the arm he’s clutching, and I feel physically sick when I realize it’s not a costume. “Aaron, what happened to your arm?”
His eyes narrow and he looks at me with so much hatred that I can’t breathe. “Ask your boyfriend, Anastasia.”
TWENTY | NATHAN
I’ve hada migraine for well over twenty-four hours.
It started when Aaron Carlisle stood in front of me with a busted arm and bruised hip and blamed me for it. That’s when I felt the twinge at the base of my skull, shortly followed by blistering heat spreading through my head until it was so painful, I could feel it at the back of my eyes.
The whole mess descended into chaos. Sabrina shouted at Robbie, JJ called Aaron a fucking liar, and I frantically gripped Anastasia, trying to promise her I never touched him.
She flew to his side, not caring about anyone else, examining his arm carefully, and said his name with the most broken, heart-shattering voice. “We’re not going to be able to compete at sectionals.”
I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell. We could all tell. The anguish, the realization, the hurt. She was stunned, and when she sank into his chest and began to sob, I had no idea how things could go wrong so quickly.
I didn’t know what to say to her. I never touched him, despite joking about it and her telling me off. I’d never jeopardize her dreams.
Aaron’s hand stroked her head, soothing her. I wanted to drag her away from him and promise her I didn’t do it, but he ushered her out of the booth, Brin close behind them, and I let them leave.
The team was just as confused as me, each promising it was nothing to do with them either. No pranks, no misbehaving, they’d all stayed away from him like I told them to. Nothing was making sense.