Page 69 of Campus Muscle

He let out a strained exhale, his eyes dark with a hunger that felt border-line lethal. Without wasting another second, he yanked the door open and hoisted me inside, and was in the driver’s seat before I could even catch my breath.

As he pulled out of the lot, weaving through the lines of exiting cars, I reached across the center console. My fingers found the ridge of his shaft beneath that thick, unyielding material. Feeling the rigid tension of him.

“Dakota,” he warned, the wheel creaking beneath his grip. “I’m trying to get us to your place in one piece.”

“And I’m trying to see if I can make the star running back fumble,” I murmured.

My lips grazed the pulse point in his neck, which was beating like a trapped bird. I let my nails snag against the crotch of his pants, a deliberate, sharp click in the quiet car. “You talk a big game about making me beg, Trace. But your heart is racing, and you’re white-knuckling this wheel like a man about to break.”

He let out a low, splintered sound, his foot twitching on the floorboard. He reached over, his large hand slamming down over mine, pinning my fingers against his throbbing cock. Instead of pulling me away, he pressed me deeper into him, a silent, desperate acknowledgment that I was winning.

I looked up at him, my gaze lingering on the hard set of his jaw. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

Trace’s head snapped toward me, his expression a chaotic mix of shock and pure, unadulterated hunger. Beneath my hand, his cock twitched with a surge of life that proved just how thin his composure had become.

“Eyes on the road, big guy.” I smiled, my thumb tracing the tip through the heavy cloth.

He groaned out loud, and floored it.

We reached my place in no time, hitting the curb with a jarring lurch. The engine had barely cut out before we were both outside, colliding in front of his car in a blur of groping hands and bruising kisses.

The quiet of the campus edge felt deafening compared to the roar in my ears. By the time my back hit the wood of the front door, my coordination was a casualty of the desperate arousal taking over me. My handbag was a black hole. My fingers were useless, clumsy things.

“The key, Dakota,” Trace urged.

“I’m trying,” I gasped, the metal jingle just out of reach taunting me.

I finally caught the key, but as I went for the lock, his hand disappeared under my dress. His palm slid up my thigh to find the damp ache in my pussy.

I let out a sharp gasp, the keys clattering against the faceplate.

“Any day now,” he murmured against my neck, his thumb applying a circling, rhythmic pressure that made my knees turn to water.

“Trace, stop. I can’t— I’m— I’m trying.” I was blind with the need to have him inside me, my breath hitching in shallow, fractured cycles.

He leaned his full weight into me, pressing me against the door, his massive frame trapping me in a cocoon of sweat and unyielding muscle. “Either you open this door in the next three seconds, or I’m breaking it down.”

The threat sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through me. With a final, shaking effort, I guided the key into the tumbler, and it slid home with a heavy, metallic click that sounded like a starting pistol.

I didn’t even have the chance to turn the handle. Trace’s hand was over mine instantly, wrenching the door open and shoving us both into the dark.

The door swung shut, and he pushed me up against it, falling to his knees in front of me.

I barely had time to register the shift before he was gathering the fabric of my dress in his fists, shoving it up to my waist.

“Trace—” My voice died in a strangled breath as he dipped his head.

I’d spent weeks questioning his motives, building walls out of logic and old grudges, but the second his tongue swiped between my folds, every defense I had was incinerated. The shock of him teasing my clit sent a violent tremor through me, my knees buckling until his hands shot out to catch me, his fingers digging into the undersides of my ass cheeks to hold me steady against his mouth.

He was relentless. The friction of his tongue was a slow, agonizing slide that anchored my entire existence to that one point of contact. My hips moved of their own accord, a desperate, undulating search for more of him, my fingers knotting into his hair and pulling him closer until there wasn’t a whisper of space left.

We were a chaotic, singular pulse in the dark. But I didn’t give a fuck. Not anymore. I didn’t even try to hold back my orgasm.

The build was too fast, too intense to fight. A white-hot tension coiled low in my belly, tightening until it was a physical ache. I tried to salvage some shred of composure, some part of the woman who wasn’t supposed to be into him. But he flicked his tongue against my clit with a sudden, determined pressure that broke me.

Game over.

My back arched off the door as I shattered into a million pieces, a cracked, high-pitched confession escaping my throat as the first wave of my climax hit. My pussy clamped around his tongue while he drank in every sip of my undoing.