Hustle (Sample and Bonus Chapters)

3: Only Talking

He doesn't respond to my question, just grins, and I know I'm in trouble because one glance at that smirk makes me dizzy.

I cut my eyes to his hands; he's pinching off a piece of green bud between his fingers and leans forward to fill the bong.

"Don't you need to wash your hands?"

He raises a brow and pauses to ask, "Why?"

"Because..." I can't say it. I shouldn't have mentioned it, but I could feel the slickness between my legs still, where his fingers had been.

"Why, Brook?" His dizzying smile becomes teasing and heart stopping as he runs those fingers over his lips, innocently enough, like he's considering something, but his green eyes deepen as he watches me.

My hands fly to my face, covering my embarrassment. "Forget I said anything."

His warm touch wraps around my wrists, and he pulls my arms down. His laughter is louder than the blood rushing through me.

"What's wrong?"

All my focus is on his grip until I look up into those eyes and that strong jaw softens when he laughs and his dimples show.

"You know why. You can't just go around with... on you." I cringe with a groan. "And now it's on the weed and you're going to smoke it. Oh my-"

He's full on laughing now.

"I don't know why you think it's so funny. You need to wash your hands before you touch anything else."

He drops my wrists, but his hands slide to my thighs, tugging me towards him. "When we're done, I will. I've barely touched you, but I like you on me. I don't want it off, I want more."

"You said we'd talk." My stomach clenches and heat surfaces, prickling my skin. I try to pull away, but his grip tightens on my thighs.

"We're talking. We'll keep talking. But I don't think I can keep my hands off of you." The tips of his fingers skim under the edge of my skirt. He lifts his gaze to me, and I don't know what he sees because I'm equal parts on fire and frozen. Scared and excited. About to flee, but about to tackle him too.

His hand leaves my thighs to lift my chin, making me meet his eyes. "Is that okay? That I keep touching you?"

It's beyond me to say no, but I'm not sure I can't say yes either.

"Have you been touched before Brook?" It's a lusty whisper.

He needs to stop talking. He needs to stop saying my name. He makes it sound intimate and dirty and it's driving me crazy. And his intense gaze lights me on fire, heating me to combustion.

So I try to change the subject "Weren't you going to smoke? I didn't think football players could. Do you do that often?"

He drops back on the couch and his hands leave me, the absence of his touch is felt everywhere.

"We can't. I don't do it often. There's only a few days a year where I can." His eyes narrow. "Why, you going to tell on me?"

"No." I squeak with the accusation. "I was just talking. I wouldn't-"

He waves me away and picks up the bong. "I was just fucking with you. It'd be your word against mine, nothing you could prove anyways."

I watch, silent, as he puts the opening of the bong to his lips, the tube filling with thick grey smoke. His breath seems endless as he sucks it down, then he leans back and releases it in slow swirls. An earthy scent fills the air.

He's still watching me with a critical gaze. He said he was joking, but everything felt different now.

"Maybe we should go back out there with the others." I look towards the door, not wanting to end it like this, but not knowing how to save it.