Semua Bab The QB’s Nerdy Addiction : Bab 21 - Bab 30

One minute, I’m floating somewhere in the upper atmosphere, hovering mid-air with my legs wrapped around Trey’s neck while the mother of all orgasms rips through my soul. The next? I’m slowly lifting my heavy head up off the cold surface of the study table. My heart is still thumping really loudly, and my limbs feel like completely useless, over-boiled spaghetti. Blinking through the blur of my glasses, I groggily look down at myself. My sweater dress is fully adjusted, smoothed neatly over my hips. My thighs are pressed tightly back together. I stare blankly at my lap in confusion. Wait... how the flipping duck did I get back down here?! Wasn’t I just... suspended in mid-air? Didn't he literally swallow my entire bud whole while I screamed like a lunated banshee into the empty stacks?! I remember the aftermath–the absolute bliss of it. The way my whole body went limp in his arms, paralyzed by the force of the climax. I remember the terrifying realization that Trey didn't even

You would not believe what Jade’s idea of " big guns" actually was. One second, I’m lying peacefully beneath my comforter, congratulating myself on my stoic silence. The next, a heavy weight launches through the air and lands squarely on my back. "Oof!" The air is forcefully knocked out of my lungs as Jade lands on top of me like a psycho wrestler. But it’s not just the sudden impact that has my brain rebooting–it’s the unmistakable feeling of warm skin pressing straight through my thin pjs. Specifically, two very soft, very nude oranges pressing into my shoulder blades. My eyes snap wide open. She is completely naked. "Jade Whitney Crawford!" I shriek in horror, thrashing wildly under her weight as I try to push her off. "If you do not get your fully nude body off of me right this second, so help me God, I will shave your eyebrows off in your sleep!" The psycho doesn't budge an inch, resting her chin comfortably on my shoulder. "Oh, look at that! The sleeping beauty miraculousl

TREY I’m fucking pissed. No, scratch that–pissed doesn't even touch the edges of the violent, infernal rage currently boiling my blood. It started at seven this morning with a phone call from the spineless bastard who claims to be my father. Marcus Parker doesn't qualify for the title of dad; sperm donor is already giving the man entirely too much credit. If there’s one single thing anyone should know about Marcus fucking Parker, it’s that the man possesses some twisted, supernatural radar for sensing whenever I’m in a somewhat peaceful state of mind. And the second he realizes I’m at peace, he makes it his life's mission to ruin it. Which is exactly what he did this morning. A five-minute phone call of his arrogant, controlling bullshit left me so enraged I felt like putting my bare fist through a concrete wall. Normally, when I’m this radioactive, there’s only one reliable way to bleed off the poison: taking it out on some poor bastard’s face in the underground ring over at The

HOLY ZEUS ON A BICYCLE. My jaw literally drops open, my eyes wide as saucers, and my thighs instinctively clench together so hard it hurts. Anaconda doesn't even begin to do this monstrous thing justice! It is a whole-ass titan. It’s thick, menacing, and pulsing with dark veins that wrap aggressively around the shaft. The tip is a deep, angry, flushed red, practically glistening with a clear bead of pre-cum that threatens to spill over. But what completely freezes my blood is the metal. Is that... a piercing?! Rowed along the underside of his thick shaft are small silver barbells–a literal Jacob’s Ladder. I’ve read about them in my filthiest dark romance novels, but seeing a real-life, metal-studded monster inches from my face is a completely different story! I stare at the metallic sheen, my mind completely blown, before dragging my eyes back up to his face in terror. "It won't fit!" Gasping out frantically, I back my head up an inch. "There is physically no way that thing is

Lifting his head, a single dark brow goes to greet his forehead as he gives me an infuriatingly calm once-over."Why–what's–" The words don’t even make it past his lips because I shock myself with the speed I deploy to bridge the distance between us. Honestly, The Flash should take notes from me. In the next second I’m in front of him, snatching both my precious journal and my fake fantasy list right out of his large hands, and scrambling back two paces. "Some things are very much private!" Clutching them to my chest, I glare at him, heart racing a thousand miles per second. "You can't just go around touching everything in my room! There's a little thing called personal space and boundaries!" I’m met with that usual creepy intensity in his stare. I don't know what I was expecting–a smirk, a mocking growl, or maybe a sarcastic remark about my panicked reaction–but it’s definitely not the words that tumble out of his mouth next. "I apologize, sweetheart,” he says softly, and like