Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)

I TURN OVER IN BED, the sheets tangling around my legs, so I can stare out the window.

I haven’t slept. My body thrums with need. My clit is practically screaming for attention, and still, I ignore it, biting the pillow as I look at the moon.

My body isn’t just craving release—it’s wanting it from one person in particular.

And he’s in his own bed, with only a thin wall between us.

One more night.

It was so hard to tear myself away from Sebastian after dinner. He sat through my whole mini lecture about the work I’m doing, and he seemed interested the whole time, which usually doesn’t happen. People are interested at first—they think of aliens and want to know more—and then that wanes as I go into the details. Sebastian asked me thoughtful questions, even though he’s not involved in physics or astronomy. He even untangled a problem I’d been pondering with the code just by asking a question that unleashed a new train of thought, which I definitely needed after I lost that stupid bit of work today. I stayed there through dinner and a glass of wine, and debated having a second, but managed to contain myself.

It’s the last night, and he doesn’t even know it. The university emailed me just before I left the lab with information about a room that I can move into tomorrow. I almost told him during dinner, but I didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face.

Now, I can’t sleep. I don’t even want to try. I’m wide awake, thinking of the rough edges of Sebastian’s hands and how good he looked in the kitchen and how badly I wanted to lick his throat. Every time he took a sip of wine, my stomach clenched. I want to touch myself, but I haven’t had time to replace Lucinda, my favorite vibrator, after her demise in the flood, and it’s nowhere near as satisfying with just my hand.

It would be quiet, however. The only thing worse than rubbing myself off to the thought of Sebastian yet again would be if he overheard it.

It’s past midnight. I haven’t heard him move in hours.

I inch my hand underneath my sleep shorts.

As I circle my clit with my finger, I breathe in sharply. I bury that sound in the pillow, closing my eyes and focusing on the sensations. Sebastian’s hand would be bigger, his fingers rougher. He’d start like this, teasing my clit, nowhere near ready to give in, but reminding me of the end goal. He’d cup my pussy next—I do that, fingers slipping through the wetness—and murmur something dirty against my ear.

Maybe he’d use that special, ridiculous nickname. I’m the furthest thing from an angel, but that never seemed to stop him.

I mouth at the pillow with a pant as my finger brushes my clit. My body aches, wanting to be filled, to be fucked so deep I feel it in the morning. I make do with my fingers instead, adding one and then the other, crooking them so they hit that spot that makes me tremble. They’re not big enough, not even close. I move them in and out, thumb rubbing my clit.

My stomach twists into a knot, aching for release, for that moment of pure clarity as my body spins out in pleasure, but even adding a third finger just makes me whine with frustration. Memories crowd my mind like wishes. I can almost pretend that he’s here with me, watching with that quiet, addictive intensity. In my fantasy, I’m teasing him, making him stay put as I touch myself. He’s indulging it, letting me put on a show, but if I go too long without letting him take care of me, he’ll spank me before maybe letting me come.

The first time he did that, I nearly came untouched. It was so surprising, to feel the bloom of pain, to hear his velvet-soft voice as he told me to be a good girl and take it. And after, when my ass was stinging and pleasure burned through me like wildfire, he cradled my jaw and told me to open my mouth, that I had to get his dick nice and wet before he fucked me.

I give my head a shake. I need to stop getting lost in moments of time that I can’t get back. I don’t like him anymore—I can’t like him anymore.

If I could just take the edge off…

Yet another moan rips itself from my throat as I plunge my fingers in and out. “Sebastian—”

“Angel?”

I freeze. That wasn’t my imagination. I glance at the door, still shut tightly.

“Seb?” My whole body erupts with heat so intense that I wouldn’t be surprised if I started glowing. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat as I pull my shorts up, wiping my fingers on my shirt for lack of a better option. “What are you doing?”

“If you needed help, you could’ve just asked.”

Mother of Christ. I take a deep breath, sliding off the bed. “Go to bed.”

“Can I open the door?”

I inch closer, until I can rest my head against the door. Somehow, knowing he’s on the other side is making me ache even more. Did I wake him? Is his hair all mussed? Is he wearing pajamas? How long has he been there, listening to me? “I… I don’t know.”

“You sound frustrated. Let me help.”

I nearly snap that I am frustrated, but manage to rein it in. “That’s not a good idea.”

“It’s past midnight.” His voice is even softer than before. “Let me in, Mia.”

I can hear the implication in the words. Past midnight means it doesn’t count, come morning—something I told him on more than one occasion.

I shouldn’t let him in. Nothing whispered in the dark stays there, in the end.

Yet I open the door.

He’s shirtless, with a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is a messy tangle, falling into his eyes. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, but it fades as we look at each other, breathing into the quiet. I hear my heart beating as if it’s outside my body.

He’s beautiful. I want to touch him so badly, the urge rolls from my fingertips all the way to my toes.

He takes my hand, squeezes it, and then presses a rough kiss to my palm.

“Please,” he says.

I can’t speak. I don’t want to ruin it by saying something sharp and uncalled for. This is a bad idea—but I’ve always liked bad ideas. This is reckless—but I’ve never liked being reckless more than when I’m with him.

I nod.

He pulls me to his bedroom. As if worried I’m going to change my mind, he kisses me before we’re even over the threshold, his big, warm hands coming up to frame either side of my face. The bruising crush of his lips against mine ignites the rest of my resolve; I’m the one who pushes him to the bed. I climb into his lap, grinding against him. He retaliates by palming my bottom. The squeeze of his hand makes me break off our kiss with a moan, and he huffs out a laugh.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say, breathless because he’s skimming his hand up my t-shirt. He cups my breast and squeezes, those rough fingertips I haven’t been able to stop thinking about teasing my nipple.

“Sure, Mia Angel. Whatever you say.”

The familiar wordplay makes me swallow. Mia Angel, my angel. “You’re the one who was listening in on me.”

“Wasn’t exactly hard,” he drawls, pinching my ass for good measure. “In fact, I remember you being exactly that loud. Not usually that frustrated, though.”

At least it’s dark in here. Harder to see my blush. “I was making do with my fingers.”

He makes a sympathetic noise as he continues to tease my breasts. “And they were nowhere near enough. I know you need to be filled up.”

It’s an effort to make my tone dry, not breathless. “Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to sit there stating the obvious?”

His grin is a flash of white in the dark. “Depends. You going to be a good girl and listen to me?”

Those two words are a siren’s call, shattering whatever remains of my defenses. In answer, I take his hand and lift his fingers to my mouth. I trace my tongue over his knuckles, then down each finger, then finally take two of them into my mouth, sucking until they’re good and wet. Relief floods through me at the expression on his face. He couldn’t mask the want if he tried.

He doesn’t hate me. He still wants me. I might’ve ruined any chance at more, but at least I still mean something to him.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “Fucking missed this. Turn around, sweetheart.”

He maneuvers us so I’m sitting in his lap with my back to his chest. I tug off my shirt, near-breathless now, and he wraps an arm around my middle, squeezing tight. He hooks my legs over his and spreads them that way, so I’m restrained, kept in place by his body. His other hand strokes over my already-wet panties. He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “How far did you get?”

“Not far enough.”

“You missed me too, didn’t you? Saying my name in the middle of the night while I’m next door.”

My breath sticks in my throat. “Seb.”

He just kisses my hair again. “Mia.”

His fingers skim the top of my panties. “Go on, tell me.”

I try to twist, but he holds me in place. He continues to tease, playing with the scrap of fabric that’s covering where I need his touch. I know I’m not getting more until I give him an answer, but I’m not crumbling this easily. I wiggle, so my ass is more firmly against his hardened dick, and relish in his sharp intake of breath. “Miss is a strong word.”

He rubs my clit over the panties. My belly clenches. “Come on, angel. Be honest with me.”

“Fuck. Fine. I missed you.”

He tugs down my panties and cups my cunt. “Was that so hard?”

“I guess not,” I grumble.

He huffs out a laugh as he slowly strokes over my folds. For all his teasing, he doesn’t wait to push a finger into me. He adds another, scissoring them, as his thumb finds my clit. My head falls against his shoulder as my body presses down, seeking even more contact.

I didn’t forget a single detail—not his clean scent, or his soft hair, or his broad chest—but experiencing them again is making me dizzy. He’s so strong, his arm is a belt around my middle, keeping me in place effortlessly. He increases the pressure on my clit, wrenching a little sob from my throat. I’m right on the edge, wobbling but not quite falling, and every touch leaves sparks.

“Good,” he breathes out. “Come for me, gorgeous girl.”

He pushes in a third finger, stretching me enough it’s almost a good enough substitute for his cock, and uses his other hand to rub my clit. The effect is no doubt obscene; I’m spread open, moaning as he touches me all over with those long, talented fingers. A distant part of me wonders if tomorrow I’ll regret this, but right now? This is everything I’ve wanted, every moment of every day, since I walked out on him.

“Sebastian,” I say without thinking. My voice breaks halfway through, hanging in the warm silence.

He makes a soft noise, not a shush but a soothe, and curls his fingers inside me as he answers, “Mia Angel.”

I gasp, my nails digging into his thighs as I come. Stars swim in my eyes, dotting my view of his dark, neat room. He pulls out his fingers slowly, the drag an extra bit of pleasure all on its own, and sets them against my mouth.

I take what he’s offering, licking them clean as he strokes his other hand through my hair. His cock is a hot, solid bulge beneath me; I can’t decide whether I want it in my mouth or my pussy. I manage to turn around, balancing on his lap as I pull him into a kiss. I run a hand through his hair while the other strokes down the hard planes of his abs, settling at the waistband of his sweatpants.

As much as I love how he fills up my cunt, I want to feel him in my mouth. I want to taste his salt and musk. My mouth is already watering thanks to the promise of it, that familiar tug of want stirring again deep in my core.

He nips my lip. “Better?”

I nod, breathless still, and dive forward to kiss his neck. I bite down gently. “Wanna suck you.”

He catches my hand before it can get any further. “Not yet.”

I huff. “What?”

“Making you feel good was a favor,” he says. “If you want to touch me, I need something from you first.”