The Best Kind of Forever (Riverside Reapers, #1)(2)

There are a handful of websites dedicated to capturing all the mistakes I’ve made, and some of the diehard Reapers’ fans have collectively formed a brigade to share in a universal dislike for me. If the stands came equipped with tomatoes—which I’m thankful they don’t—I’m pretty sure the only person people would be aiming at is me.

I never thought that so many people would be interested in my sex life…or maybe “disgusted” is the right word. When you sleep with a different girl every day for the entire month of March, it doesn’t give the best impression.

I want to forget this whole week. I want to stop feeling. The alcohol’s already helped a bit with both, but if I can rely on one thing in this damned world, it’s good sex.

In my defense, I haven’t slept with anyone in sixty days. And that’s a deliberate abstinence, okay? I haven’t really been able to trust anyone after my ex-girlfriend, Macy, broke up with me.

I caught her cheating on me with her coworker, who she’d apparently been seeing behind my back for the duration of our relationship. We were together for two years. TWO.

She then admitted to only using me for my money, my name, and my fame.

She dumped me before I could break up with her. She threw all my shit out her window—at least the shit she hadn’t burned yet—and topped everything off with a few glitter bombs and a passionately worded Notes app paragraph on her Insta story.

The girl in front of me is shaking the bed with how much she’s bouncing on top of me. We went from a fifteen-minute make out sesh to her riding me like rent was fucking due.

I’m not sure I even asked what her name was. She knew my name, though. Sponsor parties are always crawling with puck bunnies.

I can’t stop staring in awe at the way her perfectly proportioned tits recoil as she fully clenches around me, her head lolling back, dark hair spilling down her shoulders like ink.

My hands are gripping her thighs so tightly that red marks are rising in their wake. I love when girls are loud, but fuck, is she loud. I bet the whole party downstairs can hear us, despite the outdated EDM music playing. Her moans are heaven-sent, and they unravel the knot of desire in my stomach. She’s rolling her hips and playing with the curve of her breast, two images that rev the static inside of my brain. The warmth in my groin intensifies, erupting into a fire that sears every inch of me. Her perky ass slaps against the tops of my thighs.

I’m close to coming. My dick is practically begging me to release inside of her, and it’s a good thing I snagged a few condoms before leaving the house because no matter what dude you talk to, pulling out rarely works.

The minute I saw her across the room, I think a part of me knew how the night was going to end. Before I even got the chance to talk with my teammates, her hand was stroking me. Yeah, self-control has never been my strong suit.

“Fuck…” I groan, though I think it comes out more like a frustrated growl.

We move together in a synchronized pattern of movements, and I watch her pick up the pace. Her pussy squeezes up and down my length as she nears her climax, and when she comes down hard on the hilt of my pubic bone, an avalanche of arousal suffocates me. The tip of my dick tingles, and it feels like a supernova is exploding in my veins, coloring my vision with constellations. Before I know it, I’m spilling myself into the latex in hot, wet bursts.

When I get up to dispose of the condom, she has the bedsheets pulled up to her chest.

“Are you coming back to bed?” she asks, hope playing in her umber eyes.

“I should probably head back to the party. You know, rub shoulders with some sponsors, maybe a few geriatric sugar daddies,” I joke, but her lack of laughter hits me in the face like a wicked slapshot.

“Oh, right. Will I see you again?”

My cock loves the idea of seeing her again, but I really shouldn’t be entertaining a relationship with everything going on. This was a one-time thing.

A wrecking ball of anxiety swings to the center of my chest, making the air in my lungs diminish. “Sure, I can get you tickets to an upcoming game.”

I take my time getting dressed, because I’m definitely not in a rush to get back to the party.

My response must’ve been convincing enough because she perks up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That would be great. Uh, can I see your phone?”

I hand my phone over to her, slowly slipping one pant leg on at a time so I don’t look like I’m in a hurry to get out of here.

Look, I don’t want to hurt her feelings, alright? I know she’s gonna put her number in there, and I’m not going to stop her. I’ll just let her down nice and easy over text. That way I don’t have to deal with the tears and the yelling.

She hands me back the device, exposing her tits as she reaches down to pick up her shirt. “I put my number in there. I hope you use it.”

I’m only able to nod because I’m currently contemplating how moral it would be if I proposed we go for a second round.

Verdict: not moral.

I shake the thought from my addled brain, say a quick goodbye, and give her a half-hearted hug. Then I slip out of the bedroom, ready to sprint for the exit to evade any prying eyes. And I foolishly think I’m in the clear before I come face to face with the last person I wanted to run into.

The top buttons of my shirt are undone, my hair’s a mess from the girl gouging her fingers through it, and I’m pretty sure I saw at least three hickeys decorating my neck in the mirror.