Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
His brow furrows in surprise. “Sustainable pleasure—You’re killing me, Leighton. I need to find that portal right now.”
Want spreads in my chest, and even though we’re flirting with trouble, I can’t resist. I pull out another one with a curved end. “This is The Wand.”
His smile falters. His gaze flicks between the toy and me, his eyes darkening. He’s picturing me using it. “I bet it’s magic.”
I smile, but it burns off quickly as the air shifts. His steps are purposeful, closing the space between us until he’s barely a foot away. Heat radiates from him, and I’m keenly aware of how small the room suddenly feels, how easily I could grab the neckline of his shirt and tug him against me. My pulse rockets.
“And that one?” His voice is low, gravelly, as he nods toward the rose-pink toy.
I hesitate, heat flooding my cheeks. “It operates with suction.” I nibble on my lower lip. “It’s really good.”
His breath hitches, his chest rising as he drags a hand through his hair. He steps closer again, pressing his palm to the wall like he needs the support. When his eyes meet mine, they’re molten.
“If I stay much longer…” His voice is rough, scraping the air between us. “I’m breaking the friendship rule.”
My pulse thrums everywhere, my whole body on fire. “You should go.”
But he doesn’t leave.
He cups my cheek, his hand warm and steady, his thumb brushing against my skin as his gaze roams my face. “Send me a picture when you’re done.”
The words hit me like a hot kiss, leaving me breathless.
Before I can respond, he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stand there, my pulse pounding and my skin tingling. The need rises higher in me, so high it’s impossible to ignore.
Later, I’m quiet as I imagine him pinning me down, fucking me hard, taking me apart.
My toes curl. My legs shake. A moan rises from the depths of my dirty soul. I swallow the sound as I come hard.
Then, with my cheeks still flush, my lips parted, my hair fanned out, I take a photo of my face and send it to him.
Ten minutes later, a reply lands.
Miles: Fuck me.
I roll my lips together, savoring his reaction. Then another drops.
Miles: You’re so fucking sexy.
My smile grows stupidly bigger. A few minutes later, my phone pings once again.
Miles: It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last that a picture of you has come in quite handy.
25
THE GREAT SOCK DEBATE
Miles
I could really use a Border Collie.
The second I step into the locker room for our season opener on a Wednesday in early October, it’s buzzing with noise—gear clattering, banter flying. Herding these guys for the opening night team pic feels like wrangling twenty-plus rowdy sheep. A canine companion would make this so much easier.
But Coach asked me to round everyone up, so here I am.
“Boys,” I call out, stepping into the chaos, but my voice barely registers over Hugo’s loud declaration.
“For once and for all: you can wear sandals with a suit,” Hugo argues from his locker, peeling off a sock with cartoon cupcakes on it, “but you can’t wear socks and sandals with a suit.”
“Why are you discriminating against socks?” Wesley shoots back, yanking off his Corgi-butt socks like they’re badges of honor. “Socks are elite. Do you hate the coolness of socks?”
“Socks aren’t cool,” Tyler says from across the room, earning him a withering glare from Wesley.
“Maybe you didn’t get the memo, Little Falcon,” Wesley fires back as he tosses his suit jacket into his stall. I stifle a laugh at the nickname he just gave my brother.
Judging from the eye roll, Tyler’s not too fond of it, but Wesley doesn’t back down. Nope. He holds up his Corgi-butt socks once more like evidence in court. “I have monkey socks, giraffe socks, dumpster fire socks, librarians-like-it-hard socks, I-read-banned-books socks, Christmas socks, Halloween socks, and zombie socks. Socks are motherfucking elite.”
“Thank you, Wesley, for that rundown of your sock drawer. Exactly what we all needed today. Now, as I was saying, we need to get our asses in gear for the team pic,” I say, gesturing pointedly toward the exit.
Max stops loosening his tie. “Yes, but did you know I have I-hate-everyone-but-you socks?” he says, smirking as he holds up his foot to show off said socks. “Everly gave them to me.” It’s hard for him to hide the obvious adoration he has for his fiancée.
“Yeah?” Asher snorts. “Well, I’ve got giraffe briefs, monkey boxer briefs—but not Corgi butts. Hmm. I need those too. I might pitch that idea to CheekyBeast.” He whips out his phone, muttering a note to himself to send to, I think, his underwear sponsor, before turning back to Tyler. “So yeah, man, socks with animals are definitely cool.”
“You literally just bragged about your underwear, dude, not socks,” Tyler shoots back, scratching his head.