He held me like I weighed nothing, his knuckles still there under my chin as his lips pressed softly against my own. And when I’d deepened the kiss, when I’d wrapped my arms tighter around his neck? He’d only pulled me closer, a low groan rumbling out of his throat that made something… different happen to me. It sent a spark of fire roaring up my inner thighs, one that sparked at my core and had me flushing any time I thought about it since.

It also had me salivating at the thought of doing it with Shawn.

Sure, it was fun with Clay, but it was pretend. Having an actual boyfriend who would kiss me like that all the time? So long, I’d yearned for that.

And until Clay offered me this ridiculous fake-dating situation, I hadn’t realized how desperate I was to get it, what lengths I would go.

Now?

I was all in.

My boss had been as surprised as that cafeteria full of football players, calling me into her office after the media had finally packed it in and crawled off campus that evening.

“So. I see you’ve figured out how to wrangle Clay Johnson,” Charlotte had said, not so much as looking at me from where she was typing away on her computer.

I’d merely pushed my glasses up my nose, knowing a response wasn’t warranted.

“Be careful,” she’d warned, but then her lips had tilted into a smile as her eyes met mine. “And have fun.”

That was it. Permission granted.

I had a feeling it had a lot more to do with the fantastic interview Clay had provided ESPN’s Sarah Blackwell than anything else, but I didn’t question it. He’d owed me that much, at the very least.

And now, he owed me his part of our little dating bargain, too.

I blinked, coming out of my thoughts as I settled deeper into my sheets and folded my book open again. Another handful of Cheetos went in my mouth, and then I propped my book on my chest and slipped back into another universe.

“You forget who makes the rules here, Francesca,” Nino warned against Francesca’s lips, his breath like the hot metal of a gun against her neck. “And who hands out the punishment to those who break them.”

She pressed into him, not backing away from where his fingers wrapped around her throat. “You’ve been dying to punish me ever since you locked me down here,” she spat. And in a move so bold she couldn’t believe it was she who made it, Francesca wrapped her hand around the bulge protruding through Nino’s expensive Boglioli slacks. “What’s stopping you?”

His grip on her throat tightened, and in the next breath, she was thrown back on the bed, gasping as her airway finally cleared.