CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BRENDEN

I almost trip up the stairs in my haste to get to my bedroom. Travis is laughing behind me, but I’m not slowing down. This is the first time he’s been the one to initiate fooling around, and let me tell you, I am here for it.

You’d think having his dick in my mouth this afternoon would’ve been enough to keep me satiated for more than twenty-four hours. But apparently not. Plus if I recall correctly—and seriously, as if I could forget—he promised me a blowjob.

Travis barely gets the bedroom door closed behind us before I’m stripping off my shirt and pants, leaving them in a messy heap on the floor. He laughs again. “Eager much?”

“Nope. Not at all,” I lie brazenly.

“Okay, good. Because I think I’m more tired than I thought. Maybe we should just get to sleep.” He lets out a long yawn as he stretches his arms behind him.

My mouth hangs open for a moment before I force myself to shut it, attempting to hide my disappointment. I run my finger over the waistband of my boxer-briefs awkwardly. “Oh. That’s fine.” When he cracks a smile, I suck in a breath. “Wait, are you fucking with me?”

“Of course I’m fucking with you.”

“Well, that’s just rude.” I turn away from him, pretending to be offended.

He reaches for me before I can step away, his large hands wrapping around my upper arms and tugging me backward until my back hits his chest. “Let me make it up to you,” he suggests, voice low and growly in my ear.

“Okay,” I say. And I say it perfectly normally. I absolutely do not squeak it.

His idea of making it up to me starts with his teeth grazing their way down the side of my neck and along the top of my shoulder. When I sag into him, he splays a hand over my stomach. It’s not exactly a dirty move, but the possessiveness of it sends a zing shooting up my spine.

He brushes his pinky down my happy trail and then dips it below my waistband. I press my ass into his front, hoping to encourage him to go farther. His other hand comes to the front of my hip, holding me tightly against him. I’m tenting my underwear now and rocking upward trying to get contact on my dick, but he’s stubbornly refusing to grab it.

“You’re a liar,” I complain. “You’re not making it up to me.”

“Not yet,” he says, sounding awfully smug.

“Then when? Because if you don’t hurry up and get on with it, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”