I haul her up, rolling us so she's on top, her hair falling around us in a dark curtain. I want her to feel like she has control. Hell, I want her to know she can have anything she wants from me.
"You're a menace," she says, but she's already taking me inside, her nails raking down my chest. "You're an actual, literal menace."
"Yeah," I agree, palming her ass as she starts riding me. "But I'm your menace."
"Yeah," she whispers. "I guess you are."
Chapter Nine
Serena
It's not even dawn, and Austin's phone is blowing up. I can hear it chirping relentlessly from his pants…somewhere on the floor.
"Austin." I poke him in the ribcage, trying to rouse him. "If you don't get your phone, I'm shoving it up your—"
He rolls on top of me before I can even properly threaten him, silencing me with a hard kiss.
I melt beneath him, groaning softly.
"I'm getting it, baby," he murmurs against my lips. "Go back to sleep."
"Well, I'm up now," I grumble.
He chuckles, kissing me again before he rolls off the side of the bed, already reaching for his pants.
I pull the pillow over my head.
"What the fuck?"
Well, never mind the pillow.
I pull it off again, peeking over at him to find him scowling at his phone.
"What's wrong?"
"Hold that thought."
"What? Why?" I sit up, pulling the blankets up with me. "You can't just growlwhat the fuck, and then not expect me to have follow-up questions, Austin."
He ignores me, his phone to his ear. I'm not even sure it rings before whoever he's calling answers. I can hear a deep baritone growling at Austin all the way from my side of the bed.
"Did you see the fucking photos?"
More photos?
Great. Just great.
The last week has been quiet…peaceful, almost. I mean, if you can call being fucked within an inch of your life every night peaceful. But it's certainly been less chaotic since Austin put out a statement the day after I ran from his game, clarifying what happened at the party.
I wouldn't say his statement killed any interest in us. It didn't. I mean, he basically told the world that I spilled wine on him and gave him a raging boner and something to pursue as zealously as a championship ring. His words, not mine. But most people are now calling me his girlfriend instead of a shameless, gold-digging skank.
Any progress is progress, right?
"Yeah, I just saw them," he says into the phone. "Why the fuck did she slap him?"
Okay, so not me, then. Hallelujah.
"How the fuck should I know?" the guy on the other end of the line growls. "She won't answer her fucking phone so I can ask her."
