Page 72 of Dirty Hit
He takes a breath, then lowers himself carefully, still not used to the size difference, or the way we fit. I put my hands on his hips and guide him, turning him from a careful sideways perch into a full straddle.
His knees are on either side of mine, chest to chest, his weight settling over me in a way that feels too fucking good. He gaspswhen he realizes how close we are, hands flying to my shoulders and fingers digging in.
“Dom,” he mutters again, voice already thinner.
“Hi,” I say, smirking. “Welcome to office hours.”
“You’re…” He swallows. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You came here two hours early,” I remind him, letting my hands slide up his sides, palms flat against his ribs, feeling the flutter of his breathing. “You watched me at practice.”
He shifts, embarrassed. “There were other people there. It’s not like I was holding a sign.”
“You may as well have been,” I say. “You know what seeing you next to all those idiots did to me?”
“Distracted you so much you almost got killed?” he offers, a flicker of brat sparking in his eyes.
I grin, teeth flashing. “You love that you rattled me. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, because we both know I’m right. I let one hand drift up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the short hairs there, thumb tracing lazily along the line of his spine.
“What were you thinking up there?” I ask. “When you saw me in my element?”
He shifts on my lap, the movement unintentional and dangerous, and drags in a breath. I feel every fucking inch of it.
The little friction of him settling, the quick way his body goes still right after like he knows exactly what he just did. The blush that started at his neck has made it all the way up his cheeks now, painting him in this pretty, unwilling pink that makes him look almost soft enough to bite.
“Nothing,” he lies.
I laugh low in my throat and tighten my grip hard enough to make his breath hitch. “You’re a terrible liar, Little Sin. Try again.”
He looks away for half a second, then forces himself to meet my eyes, and there it is again—that furious little spark I fucking love, the one that shows up when I push him into honesty and he hates how easily it comes out around me.
“I was thinking,” he says carefully, “that the girls in the stands needed hobbies. One of them said she’d let you ruin her life, which is dramatic and stupid, and another one kept talking about your tank top like she wanted to peel it off with her teeth.”
I grin so hard it almost hurts. “Yeah?”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t make that face.”
“What face?” I ask innocently.
“That smug one,” he says immediately. “The one you get when you know you’re being unbearable.”
“I’m unbearable all the time,” I point out. “You’re going to have to narrow it down.”
He glares, but there’s no real heat in it because I can see the pulse jumping in his throat and the way his knees hug my hips a little tighter without him meaning to. He’s worked up, not just embarrassed. Possessive.Jealous.My shy little Christian boy watched me on the field and got territorial.
I slide my hand from the back of his neck to his jaw, thumb brushing once over the flush in his cheek. “Tell me what you were thinking when they were looking at me.”
“That they should stop, because you’re mine,” he blurts, then immediately looks like he wants to sink into the floor. “Oh, God. I didn’t mean—I know you’re not—”
“Fuck,” I say softly, possession spiking through me. I lean in, brushing my mouth over his jaw, feeling it clench. “I think that if my jealous little sin wants to be reminded where I go after practice, I should make that very fucking clear.”
I kiss him deep and thorough and filthy enough that by the time I pull away he’s breathing in broken little drags and his face is flushed all the way to his ears. I let him squirm for a second,then shift my hands to his waist and slide my thumbs under the hem of his sweater, skin warm and soft under my fingers.
“Next question,” I say. “How’s your head?”
He blinks, still dazed from the kiss. “My… what?”
