The Score

“Are you saying your she-kissed-me story is bullshit?” I snap back.

“No, what I’m saying is—” He spits out a frazzled curse. Then exhales slowly. “I’m saying you’re not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. And FYI? If anyone should be pissed right now, it’s me.”

My jaw drops. “How so?”

“I’ve been getting shit for two days thanks to your Houdini act in the bathtub,” Dean says darkly. “I found a bottle of lube under my pillow last night with a note from Garrett saying ‘For your ass’. Logan bought a carton of pink lemonade and keeps giving me a thumbs up every time he drinks a glass. Grace can’t look me in the eye without giggling. And now I’m getting shit from you, and you won’t even do me the courtesy of telling me why?”

“I’m…I’m…argh, I’m done with this.” The words burst out before I can stop them. “We’re not flinging anymore, okay? It’s done.”

Dean’s shoulders set in a severe line. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“And I don’t get a say in it?”

“No.”

“Bullshit,” he says again. “You can’t just call it off without giving me a good reason.”

A powerless feeling rises in my throat, because I don’t have a good reason.

“I had a bad day and you were the first person I called.”

That sounds insane if I say it out loud. But I know myself. I can feel myself falling into the boyfriend bear-trap, and I need to step out of it before the damn thing snaps shut and mangles my poor helpless heart.

“Are you telling me you’re not attracted to me anymore? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it. You know I am. But—”

“But nothing.” He edges closer, and my breath gets trapped in my lungs. His eyes are on fire, his chiseled features twisted in a feral look. I’ve never seen Dean angry before. It’s hot as hell. “How about we recap what happened tonight? How does that sound?”

Before I can blink, I’m against the brick wall, and his mouth is inches from mine. We’re half hidden between a stack of milk crates and a dumpster that is blessedly empty. Not that it matters, because even if it were overflowing with garbage, I still wouldn’t be able to smell anything other than Dean’s spicy, masculine scent. Every time I inhale, the addictive fragrance makes my brain foggier and foggier.

“You heard I was at the bar with another chick, and you got jealous. How am I doing so far?”

I clench my jaw.

“Then you freaked out because you got jealous, right? Am I still nailing this?” When I don’t answer, he locks my chin in his hand. “What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours? You think this means you’re going to fall for me? That because you want me all to yourself, it means we’re on the track to marriage and babies?”

His mocking tone grates. “Don’t be an ass.”

He ignores me. “Well, it doesn’t mean anything, baby doll. So you were jealous. Big deal. Do you know how fucking jealous I am right now? Do you think I like seeing every guy in the bar drooling over your tits and shoving their hands in their pockets to rearrange the stiffys you gave them showing up in that getup? I want to rip their eyes out just for looking at you.”

My surprised gaze rises to his.

“No lie,” he tells me. “But do you see me freaking out about it? No, because it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Only that we’re not done turning each other on.”

He thrusts one big thigh between both of mine, grinding against me so I can feel his erection.

“I still turn you on, don’t I?”

The hard ridge pressing into my belly distracts me from replying. I can feel my panties dampening. God, I’m ridiculously wet. And my nipples are suddenly incredibly sensitive, aching wildly as they pucker against the lace of my bra.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I know I still do.” His lips brush over my ear, eliciting a flurry of shivers. “If I slide my hand under that dress right now, we both know what I’ll find. That your pussy is wetter than it’s ever been.”

I can’t breathe. Because there’s no air. Dean is stealing it all with his filthy taunts. And his hands are pushing my coat off my shoulders. I’m frozen in place, too fascinated by the intensity simmering in his eyes. He lets the coat drop to the dirty pavement, then eases the hem of my dress up and cups his palm over my core. The resulting flash of pleasure is what snaps me out of my trance.

We’re in public, damn it, but Dean doesn’t seem to care. And even though it’s cold outside, his fingers are surprisingly warm as they dip under the crotch of my panties.

Chuckling, he rubs the wetness pooled there. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He’s mocking me again, and my indignation returns in full-force. “Get over yourself,” I mutter. “I’d be wet if any guy was rubbing up against me.”

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” His thumb brushes my clit. I almost fall over. “It’s me. You want me.” He pushes one finger inside and my inner muscles betray me by tightening around it. “And as long as this hungry pussy keeps dripping for me, we’re not fucking done.”

Oh God. He’s fingering me in earnest now. The pleasure is unbearable, centered between my legs, pulsing in my veins. It’s all I can concentrate on.

“Dean…” Somehow I remember how to talk. “Anyone can walk outside right now.”

“Good. Let them. Let them see what a bad girl you are.”

I moan so loud it’s embarrassing. Dean adds another finger and works both inside me, curling them until they hit a spot that brings white dots to my vision. I rock against his hand, no longer putting up a protest, but greedily taking what he’s giving me.

“Should we give them a real show? Should I take you right here against the wall?”

My vision comes back into focus. His eyes are blazing with unadulterated lust. His free hand hovers over his zipper. He tips his head, waiting for me to respond.

I don’t know what spell he’s cast over me. I should push his hand away. Tell him to keep his pants zipped and stop being a jerk. We’re in public. Someone really might see us.

So why is my heart pounding even harder?