Nodding slowly, I lay back on the bed with my heart still pounding in my chest. “I can’t believe I ended up in your bed… Jesus.”
He held his hands up as if to prove he didn’t touch me. “I was a perfect gentlemen, Sinister. Even when you were on your hands and knees, begging me, I said, Yes, Sydney. I understand I take your breath away… No, I wasn’t aware you’ve been dreaming of me for the last two years… I know my ass is—”
“Shut up.” I turned, grinning into my pillow. God, he was cute even when he was an ass.
Peters laughed, and I flipped on my side. The hem of my shirt pulled up to my waist, and his eyes darted to the curve of my hip. I didn’t pull the shirt down. I watched him watch me—half hoping he’d become a hormonal teenager and make a move.
Instead, he reached over and pulled the covers up to my waist. “You look cold,” he said with a small frown on his face.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t hide the disappointment.
“No problem.” He locked eyes with me, his dark hair framing the side of his face, perfectly cutting across his cheekbones. When I felt a surge of heat down under, I shifted, trying to let it escape, but it was a wasted effort. “Are you going to the mom’s weekend brunch with Jack? It’s a football event, but the food’s pretty good ‘cause it’s not catered by Northern.”
I smiled. “Darn. I was looking forward to rocket dogs for breakfast, but word is there’s a mysterious shortage on campus. Fernando told me about the alumminati.”
He cleared his throat, which was now red and rashy. “What did he say?” He closed his eyes and a look washed over his face liked he was standing in front of a firing squad.
“Nothing. He just said he swiped a stash of hotdogs because of a secret society of concession stand Nazis. Relax, Peters.” A sharp pain shot through my neck. “Ouch, Jesus, I can barely move my neck.”
Peters chuckled. “That’s because you played Call of Duty for an hour with Chance. I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you now. You killed Scott Johnson like seven times… and you whispered into the headset, ‘When you don’t go to bed when your mom says so, Scott, you die by my red-hot bullet.’”
“Yeah. That kid is a little twerp. He kept calling me old lady, and Chance did try to grab my ass once.”
Peters’s face practically burst into flames, and I laid a hand on his knee. “But I turned around and slapped him in the face. Then killed his character with a serrated knife across the throat.” I gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. He covered my hand, grasping my fingers gently.
I grew somewhat breathless when he stroked over my fingertips. “Tell me three things that are true about you, Sydney Fu, car thief and jokester.” He rolled his fingertips up my wrist and swept over my keyboard tattoo, stopping to play notes along my skin.
“I’m twenty-one years old,” I said as a line of electric goose bumps blossomed across my skin. I sat up and pointed to the blue strips of devil fabric in the corner. “I hate wearing dresses.”
Peters chuckled again and locked his caramel eyes on my lips.
“And I love cuddling.” I tossed the mountain of pillows off the bed.
Peters hopped up and turned off his light. When he jumped back in bed, he slid his arm over my waist, dragging me into the curve of his body. “Good night, Sinister,” he whispered into the back of my neck, pulling the covers over our bodies.
“Good night, micro-dick,” I teased, and he gave me a tight squeeze before we both fell back to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
From the moment I woke up, I wholeheartedly wanted Sydney Porter. Sinister. She was a dark angel tucked into my arms. When her soft hair brushed against my neck, rousing me from my sleep, it aroused something else, too. I tried to conjure the most horrifying images to keep myself calm. Fernando naked didn’t work. The bubonic plague didn’t work. Now Katharine’s shrill cackle, yeah, that had me sneaking glances under the covers to make sure I was still a man.
With my manhood in check, my brain began firing on all cylinders. Without a doubt, I had a seriously sexy, wickedly funny girl lying in my arms. Sydney Porter was my own personal touchdown. And I was close to winning the game. But my gnawing sickness tripled overnight.
I’d taken this game too far.
My lies were a thick smoke in the air, an emotional haze making it hard to breathe. It would’ve been easy to stop with the blackmail. Let things go back to normal. But stupid me went and wrote a letter, raising Sydney’s hopes. And she wasn’t dumb and she wasn’t a quitter. She’d hunt her blackmailer and eventually, the trail would lead to Gray Peters.
Two years earlier…
How we went from guitar lessons to naked, I had no idea. What I did know was it was not this mere mortal’s place to question a gift from the gods. A gift wrapped in black lace and taut, olive skin. Nope. When a present like Sydney was delivered right into your lap, you didn’tignore it.
“We don’t have to do anything, Sydney.” Laying down my guitar, I stood from the bed. “I wasn’t trying to bring you back to my room to get you into bed.”
Sydney moved her hands behind her back and unclasped her lace bra. As it fell to the floor, two firm breasts appeared, lying against her skin like teardrops.
Move, Peters.
I don’t remember walking, but then I was there, inhaling her strawberry body lotion. My palm rolled across her goose bump-prickled skin, as if directed by a ghost. Catching a glimpse of her tattoo, I licked my bottom lip, ready to taste her.
“Sydney, are you sure you want to do this?”
I knew she wasn’t drunk. She’d hardly had a few sips. She nodded, focusing her brown saucer eyes on mine.
“Have you ever done this before?”
Nodding again, she wrapped her hands around the back of my neck and pulled me to her mouth. It was warm and sweet to the taste. Sydney was addictive. I caught her plump lower lip between my teeth, tugging it gently.
“More,” I whispered.
Then Sydney opened for me, allowing my tongue to sweep inside and explore.
A timid moan escaped her, and I wished it were louder. I was going to make it louder. Running my tongue down her neck, my lips fell between her breasts. I kissed each softly, until she let out a hungrier moan. There it is. Music to my ears.
“Let’s go to the bed,” she whispered. “My knees are getting weak.”
I made her knees weak?
Sydney took my hand, and I led her to the bed. When she sat down, I stood in front of her, staring down at her heart-shaped face. What’s next? T-shirt. Pulling it off, I threw it on my desk.
“Lie down,” I said, kneeling in front of her trembling thighs.
Spreading her legs apart, I lightly kissed along the inside of her knee.
“Take your pants off,” she countered, twisting a stray strand of hair around her finger. The rest of her wild, dark hair lay like a veil covering her breasts.
“Pull your hair back.”
She flipped her long hair to her back, and I leaned in, taking a breast in my mouth.
“I said take off those pants, Gray.”
“Or what?” I mumbled between mouthfuls of skin.
Her foot skimmed up my thigh and stopped between my legs.
Pants were off in three seconds.
She’d have to take off the boxers, though. I wanted to feel her hands pull them down. It was my last test to see if this was real. When I kissed closer to her center, Sydney reacted by slamming her legs shut.
I jerked my head back like I’d just missed a swinging axe. “Are you okay?”