Page 31 of Almost Rotten

Jaw ticking, he stares me down. Then, with a swallow, he nods. “So that’s the line?”

He jerks his neck from side to side, releasing a rapid succession of cracks and pops.

“Another man can fuck you from behind when you’re wearing my jersey,” he seethes, “and I can make you come so hard you cry, but the second I really want to feel you—to feel what’s fucking mine—you draw the line?”

Fuck.

When he puts it like that…

But no. I said no, and I need to respect my boundary, no matter how shaky.

I ignore the desire that’s already accumulating low in my core once more and swallow past the trepidation. Then I sit up and look him dead in the eye and rebutton my jeans.

“This is the line.”

He holds up both hands in surrender, though his face is stony.

Without warning, he gets to his feet, holding me under the arms so I don’t fall backward. Then he spins so I’m the one seated on the couch and backs up.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says as he strides for the door. “And the next night,” he grits out over his shoulder. “And the night after that. I’ll be here as much as I can be. And I fully intend to sleep in your bed when my schedule permits.”

I open my mouth to argue.

“You hold on to your fucking line tonight, petit diable,” he says before I can put my thoughts into words. “Just know it’s not going to be the line for long.”

With that, he walks out of the room and closes the door softly behind him.

Chapter thirteen

Tytus

On the way back to my room, I glance down every minute or so, confirming that there’s not a stain on the outside of my athletic shorts.

I came in my pants while Sawyer ground her sweet little pussy all over my lap.

Twice.

And now my boxers are glued to my thighs.

I was barreling toward a third orgasm before she freaked out and pumped the brakes.

Fucking brakes. Fucking line.

At least I got her there tonight. On my first try, too.

My dick doesn’t go soft after coming. Thank fuck for that. Staying hard that whole time really made an impact.

It’s just one more reason she was fucking made for me.

I unlock the door, and when I find Atty sitting at his desk, I silently curse.

“Hey, man,” he says, spinning in his chair. “Nice to fucking see you here.”

I grunt in acknowledgment. It’s the best I can do when I’m still experiencing flashbacks that include having his sister’s tits in my hands.

I really need a fucking shower.

“Where have you been?” he presses.