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FREUDIAN SLIPS

Hugh

DECEMBER 3, 2003

M Y HEART WAS brOKEN, MY HEAD WAS IN PIECES, AND MY GIRLFRIEND WAS THE DRIV ing force behind all of it.

Ex-girlfriend , I reminded myself.

Seriously, I couldn’t fucking cope with the sudden shifts in her mood.

Every damn day for the past week, Liz had shown up at my house—under the pretense of hanging out with my sister—hell-bent on trying to win me back.

By the time Friday night rolled around, Liz had pulled out all the stops, flashing every inch of her skin in her bid to lure me back to her bedside.

It didn’t matter how many times I told her to leave my room, the girl was soaring way too high in the clouds to hear me.

“Why won’t you just give in?” she purred, straddling my lap like she had the right to.

It had been twenty minutes since she’d slipped out of Claire’s bed and into mine, and I was growing impatient. And weak . “Because once I do, there’s no going back.”

“Ha.” Liz grinned down at me, eyes wild and feral. “You said once you give in, not if you give in.”

“You know what I meant.” I narrowed my eyes. “It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Uh-huh.” She winked. “A Freudian slip.”

“No, not a Freudian slip, just a regular Hughie slip,” I argued back. “Don’t go reading into it. You’ll only end up disappointed.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” she mused, still pinning me down, still rocking her hips provocatively. “There’s certainly nothing remotely disappointing about what I’m feeling right now.”

“On the contrary”—I paused to buck my hips upward, knocking her off my raging hard-on before continuing—“I hate to break it to you, but not every fella accepts sex as an apology.”

“How about just sex?” Reaching for the hem of her vest, she dragged it over her head, giving me a glorious view of her bare breasts. “Minus the apology.”

Christ, she had the best tits.

More than a handful but modest enough for her to go braless.

They were damn perky, too, with dusty-pink, rosebud-like nipples that were constantly pebbled and straining.

“Who says I want either?” I taunted, refocusing on the mindfuck straddling my chest, unwilling to give an inch. Even if it caused my balls to drop off from pressure, I would not relent.

“Your dick says you do,” she challenged, reclaiming her post on my dick.

“And my head says I don’t.” I pushed right back.

“What about your heart?” she asked, expertly gyrating her hips. Oh yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing. “What does your heart say?”

The thought darkened my mood, and I didn’t hold back when I replied with, “My heart says don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“Wow,” she breathed, quickly concealing her hurt with a narrow-eyed glare. I saw it, though, and it didn’t feel nearly as good as I expected it to. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “I suppose you do.”

To give her credit, she recovered the mood from darkening, shifting back into seductress with a relish. Grinning mischievously, she dragged my T-shirt up and trailed her nails down my stomach.

“Mm.” She released a sexy moan. “You have the sexiest six-pack.”

Repressing a shiver, I folded my arms behind my head and gave her a pointed look. “Pity you didn’t think that when you were getting railed by my teammate.”

“I can make it up to you.” She leaned in so close to my face that her lips brushed mine when she purred, “If you just say yes.”

With infinite self-control and the mental image of Pierce O’Neill piledriving her on my bed still fresh in my memory, I arched my chin up, looked her square in the eyes, and said, “No.”