Page 2 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

I grab his wrist to still his hand, and he studies me, confusion ablaze in hazy but stunning eyes the color of dark chocolate swirled with honey.

Shaking my head, I push Mr. Probably Too Rich For His Own Good back onto the bed, running my palms over his deeply tanned—and very defined—abs as I crawl over him and straddle his pelvis, kicking off my red heels in the process.

With a pleased hum, I trace the ridges of his muscles, the skin unyielding beneath my fingers.

Someone goes to the gym, I muse, worshiping the firm planes of his body.

As I touch him, his hands cup my ass, and he pulls me downward, grinding his length against me.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, can feel just how hard he is through his jeans, and every movement as he guides my hips is a delicious friction, sending shock waves of warmth rippling through me, making my very soul hum with need.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask, my breath hitching as my fingertips continue their keen exploration.

“Top drawer. Nightstand.” He grunts out each word, then bites down on his plump bottom lip as he rolls our hips together again.

Panting, I extricate myself from his grasp and lunge forward onto my stomach, reaching for the table beside the bed…but in my inebriated horniness, I miscalculate the distance and tug the drawer in question open with far more force than is actually required.

Eager, indeed, I chide myself as the compartment comes loose and at least a hundred shiny square packets in varying colors explode into view. A handful even spill over onto the floor.

Raising a brow, I glance over my shoulder, my eyes landing once more on Mystery Man, his features frustratingly vague.

My focus strays to his hand as he impatiently palms himself through his jeans, that syrupy heat stirring in my lower belly again at the sight.

Swallowing, I force my gaze back to the treasure trove of contraceptives.

The foil seems to glisten and glow, illuminated under the spotlights like I’ve discovered some kind of sexual Atlantis.

For a beat, I simply stare in amazement at the blurry but unmistakable contents of the drawer. Just how much sex does this guy have to warrant stockpiling this many condoms?

Enough that I think I can safely assume he’s not interested in anything serious .

I let out a breath of relief. At least I won’t have to worry about him chasing me for my number after this.

I don’t have the time or energy for more than a senseless hook-up right now.

Not with my school work, my scholarship requirements, and taking care of Mom.

I have way too much on my plate as it is.

I don’t have the mental bandwidth for a guy, no matter how hot he is…

I think…or how completely insane his touch might make me feel.

As if aware of my thoughts, Mystery Man mutters something unintelligible, then his hand brushes my leg, jerking me back to the here and now.

A shiver of awareness surges through my body, his fingers like brands on my skin that instantly ease me, helping to push all outside worries away and bury them down deep where they won’t be able to impede on this moment.

I need to stop thinking before I inadvertently cockblock myself and ruin my night.

Clearing my head, I reach out toward the nightstand and pluck a dark purple foil from the pile, then sit up, ready to give Mystery Man my undivided attention.

As I move, my hair shifts in front of my face, and though I shove it back behind my ears, the silky texture is unforgiving and just slips back into whatever inconvenient position it wants.

I am so not used to straightened hair, but Ronnie had wanted to see what it would look like, and if there’s one thing that girl is a pro at, it’s getting her way.

My makeup, my hair—that was all her. Not that I can’t pull in my natural state if I wanted to…

or ever bothered to try (I’ve noticed men really aren’t that picky if sex is on the table), but considering I’m about to get dicked down when I would normally be playing the role of hermit at home, I suppose I should thank her.

Straddling Mystery Man’s legs, I pick up where we left off, rising onto my knees to give myself some needed clearance as I yank down his jeans.

As they slip down his thighs, my eyes dip to the generous bulge that greets me in anticipation.

I might be half blind, but I can tell he’s big.

Really big. The thin fabric of my panties grows damp from just imagining what it will feel like to have him inside me.

Eager to start, I skim my fingertips along the waistband of his briefs, then pause when I catch a glimpse of the name printed there. The letters are indistinct, melting together into an amoebas blob, but I would swear it says Versace.

I snort again. This pair of underwear alone probably costs more than my entire wardrobe combined.

“God, you’re so sexy,” Mystery Man mutters, sitting upright.

With a warm hand, he pushes my hair over my shoulder, then cups his fingers around the back of my neck to pull me in for a kiss that would leave me weak-kneed if I was still on my feet.

His tongue plunges into my mouth, colliding with mine in a dance that increases in pace and intensity until I only seem to exist in this kiss.

He tastes like mint and gin and something so profoundly intoxicating I can barely think straight. Hell, I can barely breathe.

I rake my fingers through his thick umber hair, ravenous for those perfect lips and for everything he has to offer under his tight, overpriced briefs. Oh, my sweet little rich boy. I sincerely hope your dick is at least half as impressive as your trust fund.

We part just long enough for him to kick off his jeans and underwear, and for me to wrestle my top over my head and unhook my bra.

His undivided attention is on my chest as soon as it’s bare, and I relish the feel of each wet sweep of his tongue as he licks and flicks the tip of it across my nipples, his hands squeezing my breasts as he alternates between fondling and then drawing them into the scorching heat of his mouth.

His touch is so warm and his lips are the sun as he drags them over my skin, burning me with every caress.

Grabbing Mystery Man by the chin, I tilt his head back and chase his lips, desperate to taste him again, kissing him deeply once more as he pulls me into his lap, his hard-on rigid against my stomach.

It seems to beg for my attention from where it stands wedged between us, and pre-cum leaks onto my fingers as my nails carefully graze over the head and then slide downward along the smooth skin of his shaft.

He seems even bigger than he had looked with his underwear on, and I’m hungrier than ever to feel the fullness of another human inside me again.

Now that I think about it, I haven’t experienced such intense physical attraction to someone since I lost my mind and spread my legs for one particular fuckboy my freshman year.

It’s not that I haven’t wanted that connection, I just haven’t been able to bring myself to let a guy touch me or even get close on an emotional level after the havoc that asshole wreaked on my life.

But that happened to Past Lexi, and I’m done letting her mistakes control me.

As I learned the hard way, sometimes, sex is just sex, and it doesn’t always mean something to both involved parties…

even if the participating male member makes you think otherwise.

Often, it doesn’t mean anything to the other person, which I’m certain is the case with this guy if the volume of condoms in his bedside drawer is any indication of how commitment-phobic I’d wager he is.

I doubt he even knows my name. I sure as hell don’t know his.

And it’s going to stay that way because names lead to familiarity, and I need that distance between us to keep feelings out of the equation.

I don’t have time for feelings. I don’t want feelings.

I just want my lady cave to get plundered and to have a mind-shattering orgasm that isn’t caused by something with batteries for once.

I can have meaningless sex, I assure my dubious conscience.

I can do this, and not expect anything to come of it or for him to give a damn about me after. I can allow myself just one night of pleasure and then move on, no strings attached. No nuclear fallout. In and out. One and done.

With that little mental pep talk out of the way, I break the kiss and hold up the packet still clutched in my hand, tearing the foil open and deftly removing the condom inside before I can change my mind.

Mystery Man offers me a crooked smile, then exhales a stilted breath when I stroke him again, a long groan parting those gorgeous full lips when I slowly roll on the rubber sheathing.

When he’s covered, I lift my hips and position myself over his cock, ready.

So fucking ready. He carefully shifts my panties aside, and this time, I’m the one who groans when his thumb teases over my swollen bud, pulling a startled whimper from me.

Every touch feels so damn good, I can’t take it anymore.

I can’t wait. I need him—I need this —like I need air to breathe.

“Are you good?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Yeah,” I manage in a panting breath. I am more than good.

Licking my lips, I lower my body until his head is snug against my entrance, and we both exhale trembling breaths at the same time as I sink into his lap, taking him in an inch at a time.

As he enters me, his erection pulsates, and I swear I can feel his heart racing inside me.

Or maybe that’s my own heartbeat I sense.

Either way, this feels so damn good and we haven’t even started moving yet.