Free All Broke Down (Rusk University #2) by Cora Carmack Page B

kept me as a pretty little doll that would one day be his pretty little wife. Until one day that apparently wasn’t good enough. Maybe I didn’t play my part like I was supposed to.
    Either way, I’m beginning to learn that I don’t want to be a pretty little anything.
    What I do want to be . . . I don’t know. But I know that it needs to be something I want. Not what I think other people want me to be.
    He tugs a little harder on my hair, pulling me back from my thoughts, and I gasp into his mouth. I bite down on his bottom lip in response, not because I’ve ever done anything like that, but because it seems like the thing to do. He groans, sliding a hand down my backside. So, I guess that means it was okay. He squeezes, lifts me forward and against him so that I can feel his hard length press right against the juncture of my thighs.
    To quote Matt— Holy shit.
    He keeps kissing me, his tongue sweeping past mine again and again, and it feels like a race to the finish line. Like if I can touch him enough, taste him enough, I’ll reach a point where I’m so saturated by him that . . . that something. I don’t even know what will happen then, but I know I want it. I dig my nails into his shoulders, and he groans into my mouth in response.
    One of his hand slips down the waistband of my shorts, under the band of my underwear, and his fingers grip the curve of my behind. It’s so mind-numbingly erotic that I lose pace on our kiss, overwhelmed just trying to catalog all that I’m feeling.
    I pull back, struggling to breathe.
    “That was more than just a kiss.”
    He shrugs, his smile downright devilish.
    “Just another difference in definition.”
    His lips drift back toward mine, but I place a hand on his chest to stop him.
    “Time for another question.”
    “Go ahead,” he says, but he doesn’t shift his grip on my ass; instead he tightens it and turns his attention to my neck. His teeth skate along my skin first, raising goose bumps in their wake. Then I feel the heat of his open mouth, the flick of his tongue, his hum of pleasure.
    “When we, ah, um . . .”
    Words. Letters together in patterns. Focus on the words, Dylan.
    “Is there anything between you and Stella?”
    His teeth nip at my collarbone and I jolt on his lap. He drops his head into the hollow of my neck and groans. His panting breath is hot against my skin. He uses the hand on my backside to mimic the surprised movement I’d just made, his hips rocking with mine this time, and he groans again, deep and low.
    “Didn’t you already ask me that question?”
    “I asked if she was your ex, not the same thing as asking if there’s anything between you at all.”
    He circles my hips over his, and oh God it feels so good, better than such a simple motion should. But between his erection and both our zippers, the friction is killing me.
    “We hooked up once last year, but we’re just friends.”
    I know that answer should make me pause, should make me ask more questions, but his mouth has left my neck to explore my shoulder, and his free hand has found its way beneath my top, beneath the spaghetti strap shirt I’m wearing in lieu of a bra. He makes a noise of approval low in his throat when he discovers that fact, and his thumb draws circles around my nipple, teasing me with an almost touch for a few seconds before squeezing the tip between his thumb and forefinger.
    I throw my head back, feeling relaxed and tense all at the same time. I want more, so much more, but I’m afraid to ask, so I bite my lip, arch my body, and grind against him, hoping that he can read what I want in my actions.
    More. More please.
    His lips return to mine, and all of a sudden, I have one of those weird out-of-body experiences where I’m not sure if this is even real. Being dumped by Henry. Getting arrested. Going to a party with a total stranger. Following my impulses without any concern for the consequences. This is not my life. This is not me.
    The way his