Free High by LP Lovell Page B

adrenaline in my veins. Danger that makes me feel alive.
    His teeth nip at my earlobe as he groans in my ear and slides a hand down my body, between my legs.
    “Come for me, Duchess.” He growls, pinching my clit and slamming deep inside me. My scream is cut off by his vice grip on my neck. My vision dips and I literally see stars as my entire body trembles with wave after wave of pleasure, and Rhett hisses dirty words in my ear the entire time, pumping his cock inside me.
    When he’s done, he tosses me on the bed like a used toy and I smile.
    He goes straight into the bathroom and I hear the shower turn on. As soon as my legs stop shaking, I get up and shrug off the remains of my destroyed dress. I manage to find one of his shirts and slip it on. I check my reflection in the mirror, wipe the make up from under my eyes, fluff my hair a little, and slap on a fresh coat of lipstick. He’s still not out of the shower, but I’m not a small talk kind of girl. That said, he is hands down the best fuck I’ve ever had. He’s a unicorn man. You know, mythical, famed, too good to be true…the holy grail of men that can make you lose your shit with a look. That allows for some exceptions, and believe me, I’ve already allowed him many, but one more…I smile and take the lipstick, scrawling my number over the glass, before pressing my lips to it, leaving a kiss mark. Something to remember me by. And then I pick up my bag and leave.

    The next morning my phone is going fucking nuts. Every gossip magazine, journalist, blogger— anyone who is anyone wants an interview, and a couple are even offering big money for exclusive photos of Rhett and me. You’ve got to love the social scene. One night at a party with a guy I barely even know and we’re apparently the new ‘it’ couple. My father’s publicist is flipping her shit, which means my dad has crawled up her arsehole for letting this get out. It’s perfect.
    I stare at the picture that is fucking everywhere and smile. It’s the perfect amount of dirty with an edge of ‘they’re clearly about to fuck each other’s brains out’.
    Rhett screams bad, even in his tux, and it makes him so fucking hot. The way he grips the back of my neck, my fingers clawing at his face like I can’t get close enough…I can practically feel the chemistry just looking at it.
    Rhett Torres seems to be able to kick me in the vagina like no other.
    I’m not the kind of girl to get attached. It’s not my style. So, what happens when you meet this sacred man that makes you want to strip naked, climb him like a tree and high five his face with your vagina? You fuck him of course, but I already fucking did that, and I’m still thinking about him. I see, I want, I fuck. Then I’m usually done. This…this—whatever, is messing with my mojo because for the first time in my life, I get the urge to call a guy.
    I stare at my phone, fighting with myself. I have never called a fucking bloke in my life. What would I even say? Hey, you’re really hot and I’ve decided I want to fuck you because you’re the unicorn man. Fuck me.
    Nope, nope, nope. He has my number, he can call, and if he doesn’t then that’s good, right? Gah! I’m fucking Blake McQueen. I don’t get weird about guys or phone calls. What is wrong with me? I throw the phone across my bed like it’s a spider and flop back on the pillows.
    That’s it, I am locking myself in my room for the entire day. Me, my vibrator, James Deen, and a bag of blow have a date.
     
     

 
    There’s a bang on the door and I drag my arse off the sofa to answer it. I open the door, frowning when I see Rhett standing there holding a pizza box and a pack of beer. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt that I swear is a size too small, I mean, really? He looks like he’s about to rip out of it. I stare at his broad chest straining against the material. 
    He clears his throat and I slowly lift my eyes up to his face, an amused smirk plastered all over