Page 109 of The Heart Breaker

Fuck, I’ve missed this stretch, this burn. It’s been over a week, and my body’s been starving for him. I practically mauled him the second I walked in. He opened the door, and the second I stepped inside, I yanked up his shirt, shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs in one rough tug, pushed him flat on his back right there on the living room rug, straddled him, and sank down onto his cock.

He’s buried so deep it aches, my clit dragging just right against him every time I grind into him. He isn’t even lifting my ass and making me bounce on him. He’s just letting me fuck myself on him exactly how I crave it.

His thumb drags over my bottom lip until my mouth parts and my eyes flutter closed when he spits into it. A shudder tearsthrough me when his cock hits the same spot over and over, making me roll my eyes to the back of my head.

“Fuck yes. Grind that pretty pussy on me,” he grunts, his hand sliding to my ass to guide my hips as I move against him. His palm cracks over my skin, the sting ripping a moan out of me which only makes me ride him harder, my pussy clenching around his thick cock while pleasure floods every inch of me.

He slides his thumb between my lips, and I suck on it, twirling my tongue around it, making his eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You needed this dick so bad, didn’t you?”

A broken sound slips out around his thumb, my eyes squeezing shut as the pressure in me winds tighter.

“Goddamn, you look good riding me like this,” he murmurs breathlessly. “You gonna come?”

I nod, forcing my eyes open to meet his. He grabs my ass, moving my hips harder, faster, until heat bursts behind my eyes.

I throw my head back, my spine arching as the orgasm hits. “Cole,” I moan, tugging on the strands of his hair while I keep riding him through it.

He drives up into me until a groan tears out of him and he comes, spilling inside me.

I collapse against his chest, still twitching around him as I lift my head and meet his eyes. His fingers move slowly up and down my back, and for a second everything goes quiet, the only sound in the room is our breathing as we stare at each other.

But then my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table, and when I glance over and see another text from an unknown number lighting up the screen for what has to be the tenth time today, my whole body goes tight.

Cole’s eyes flick to it, and I can tell he read what the text says, because when he looks back at me, his expression has gone hard. “Why the fuck is your ex-boyfriend texting you?”

I swallow and push myself up, a rough sound slipping out of him when I lift off and he slides out of me. I reach for my panties and step into them fast, then grab my jeans off the floor and tug them on, wincing when I feel the slick between my thighs.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Cole getting up off the floor and pulling on his boxers while I reach for my bra and fasten it behind my back, doing my best not to look at him.

“Are you seeing him again?” His voice has gone hard. The same way it used to sound months ago, back when we could barely stand being in the same room.

My head snaps toward him. “What? No. Of course not.” I shoot him a look. “Why the hell would you even think that?”

He shrugs. “You tell me, Prescott. You come here, fuck me, and then the second Johnson texts you, you’re pulling away and getting dressed, and you don’t even look surprised.”

I sigh, pull my shirt over my head , and shake my hair loose. “I’m not surprised because he’s been texting all day.”

Cole’s jaw clenches. “Yeah?”

“He’s back in town for the game tonight, and he wants to talk.”

“Talk,” he repeats, crossing his arms over his tattooed chest, and… boy, is it hard to think when he looks like that.

“He said he has some of my stuff and wants to give it back. He asked me to meet him at his hotel.”

Cole just hums.

I wait for him to say something else, anything else. To tell me not to go. To tell me it’s a bad idea. Tell me he’s coming with me. Tell me he doesn’t like the thought of Chase wanting me alone in a hotel room.

But he just looks away.

He turns away from me and bends to pick up his sweats, and something in my chest drops before he even says a word.

“It’s up to you, Prescott,” he says, stepping into them. “If you want to go sit there and listen to that prick feed you more bullshit, be my guest.”

My brows pull together, thrown more than I want to admit by how little he seems to care. “You don’t care if I go see him?”