“Sugar,” he says, and he sucks on my tongue, his hips against my pelvis, his cock hard.

My hands slide down and grip his upper arms, and my legs shake as his lips move across my collarbone and down to the neckline of my sweatshirt. Goose bumps flare out over my skin, and I fold past the point of making any good decisions when his hand reaches up to my chest, unerringly finding my nipple through my shirt and bra. My breasts feel heavy as his index finger and thumb twirl back and forth, begging my nipples to rise up, and they do, aching. I picture him sucking them, and as if he reads my thoughts, he turns us around and guides us to the back wall of the porch, his mouth never leaving mine.

His hand is under my shirt and toys with my waistline, spanning the width and breadth, exploring and brushing against my skin, and his touch is hot, so hot. With a groan, his hand settles on my breast, dragging the lace of my bra against the nipple. Sparks of need fly through my body. Bennett always rushed this part to get to what he wanted, but Zack…please, I want more of this. I cling to his shoulders and rub my hand down his back, wishing his jacket would magically disappear.

The wall is behind me and his hips grind against me as I part my legs, letting him in—

The sound of people laughing in the media room breaks us apart. I pull my shirt back down, feeling color rise on my face.

He looks over my shoulder and then back at me, eyelids heavy, his voice hoarse. “They’re gone, just passing by.”

He leans down to kiss me again, but I stop him, my chest heaving. “Wait.”

He breathes deeply as he studies me, searching my face. “Why?”

Why?

I stare at him, taking in the perfection. The broad shoulders, the roped forearms, the way his hair falls around his chiseled face, and those lips…delicious and perfect and…I want them on my body.

I swallow down a shaky breath.

He ticks all my boxes for men, but he’s too much for my already broken heart.

No matter my bravado downstairs, to me, this wouldn’t be just a hookup, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t make promises.

“Sorry.” Before he can say a word, I brush past him and dart for the exit, dashing through the media room until I’m out in the hall. Breathing as if I just ran a marathon, I hear voices coming up the staircase and act on a whim. I head to the bathroom, which is just to the right, clearly labeled with a sticker on the door.

I go into the surprisingly spacious room, lean against the wall behind the door, and play back the kiss, remembering the feel of him against me, how my body felt alive for the first time in weeks. He is…so intense and beautiful.

The door opens and I mutter a curse in my head for not locking it, but before I can reach out to stop the progress of the person entering, I see it’s Zack, and I stop. The door closes softly behind him and I freeze as I wait for him to see me, but he hasn’t. He keeps his gaze lowered as he walks to the sink, a hand deep in his hair, chest heaving as he flips on the cold water, letting it run.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time then tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling for several beats. He closes his eyes and bends down to splash himself with water. Grabbing a clean towel from under the cabinet—who knew they existed in a frat house—he presses it to his face and holds it there for several seconds. Then, he tosses it down and flips the water off with his head bowed, breathing in and out. There’s a red flush on his cheeks and his jeans are tented. My gaze lingers there, seeing the fullness of the denim. Shit. My body softens, picturing those jeans pulled down and him inside me.

“Zack?”

He flips around, his jaw popping as he takes me in. His hands clench. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“I know.” I take a step toward him, stopping a few feet away.

Neither of us speak, that thread of tension between us building as we stare at each other. I want those powerful, muscled arms around me. I want his emotional eyes gazing into mine when—

“I should go,” he says, moving to open the door, and I put my hand on his arm.

“Wait.” I don’t know what I’m doing, but this moment, this guy—it feels right. “Don’t.” I take another step and eliminate the distance between us. With a hand that trembles, I lock the door, tilt my head back, and take him in. His hair is slightly damp from the water and I reach up and run my hands through it. It feels as good as it looks, soft and silky. I tug on the ends. “Stay.”

His lips part, a long breathy sound coming out. “Are you sure?”

Curling my fingers around his neck, I stand on my tiptoes and press my mouth against his. “Yes.”

His response is instant, an accelerant to a flame, his lips taking control, his tongue an invader as we go nuclear in a millisecond.

His hands cup my face as his mouth ravages mine. He sucks my tongue until I groan, my breaths labored and loud in the small room. He kisses down my neck, retracing his path from before, his lips hot against my collarbone, the back of my ear.

Cool air hits my skin as he eases up my sweatshirt. I help him pull it up and over my head, exposing my black lace demi bra. He throws my shirt on a shelf and stares at me with an almost hesitant look, as if I might change my mind. I won’t, my eyes tell him.

I’m a tall girl and my breasts fit my frame. They’re usually the first thing a guy notices, and I watch as his eyes lower. His gaze lingers on my full C-cups, and a long exhalation leaves his chest. My body tingles in response, my nipples tightening at his slow perusal. I bask in the way he stares and then moves up to lock eyes with me.

“Beautiful.” His fingers push the lace down until the bra is under me, lifting my breasts up. My breath freezes when he latches on to one of my nipples with his mouth. I groan, splayed out against the wall while he caresses me, tugging down on my nipples, sharp sensations reverberating through my body. My hips writhe against his.

He sucks each breast, going back and forth, the scruff of his jaw bound to make my skin red, but I don’t care. I grapple with his leather jacket. He leans back for half a second to toss it off, and I’ve never been happier to see a good piece of clothing gone. Grasping the fabric of his T-shirt, I shove it up until I see his chest, my mouth watering at the smooth expanse of muscled, sculpted skin. He has part of a dragon tattoo on his left shoulder that I imagine curls around to his back. Part of me wants to trace all of it with my fingers, but I’m in a hurry exploring his chest, tasting the muscles there, my tongue sucking on his collarbone the way he did mine earlier. My fingers dig into his waist, pulling him closer. I lick his nipple and eventually he pulls my mouth back to his—it’s so divine—and we kiss, our mouths open, licking and sucking, until I can’t think.

Until I can’t be held responsible for what I do.

“Sugar.”

He says my name like it’s a prayer as his hand slips under the waistband of my leggings and plays with the lace of my black panties. He touches my mound on top of my underwear, his fingers dancing over my clit.

“Yes,” I say, and he closes his lids and bites his lip, giving me one, lone finger inside my panties. My back arches involuntarily toward him, aching for more.

His mouth plays with my nipple while he strokes inside me, and sounds build up in my throat, raw and primal. I don’t know who I am right now, but I know I’m wired to him, devouring every hitch in his breath, every movement of his fingers.

“Please,” I beg, and he grunts, knowing what I want.

He gives me two fingers, delving inside my wetness then gliding back out. Over and over, he repeats the torture, and my legs open as far as I can get them in my leggings. “Fuck.” He exhales against my neck. “You’re wet.” He teases his thumb over my clit and I gasp.

My hands are at his jeans, unzipping them and shoving them down just past his hips. He’s commando and his cock is beautiful, long and thick. My heart pounds as I stroke his shaft, rolling the wetness from the top to the bottom. His skin slides over his length like iron as I caress him, brushing my fingers over his tip. Groaning, he kisses me harder, his teeth nipping at my lips, tugging until it hurts and then he kisses me softly, begging.

“I want inside you,” he says, and my entire body clenches.

I. Just. Want. Him.

More, more, more.

I call out his name and clutch his nape when his thumb is back on my nub, playing me, and a swirling sensation builds at the base of my spine, enveloping me in pleasure, rising higher. “You’re almost there.” He stares down at me and those grey eyes are beautiful and dark and full of need that—