So Wrong (Boys of South Chapel, #1)

by Abby Millsaps

lead the boys over to my car, pop the trunk, and grab my cheer bag. It takes us nearly an hour, but eventually, I manually siphon out the diesel with the resistance bands I use for stretching. Then I do it again with the regular gasoline we pumped into the tank to rinse out the remaining diesel. Greedy pays for all the fuel, as well as the containers we buy inside the station to siphon it all into. As I get started, he offers to hold my phone and wristlet for me, then not so subtly asks if he can put his number in and text him mine. For future car emergencies, he claims. He buys me an extra-large strawberry slushy when we’re all done, which I slurp down the second we pay at the register. “Thirsty?” he teases. I was thirsty when I pulled in an hour ago. Now I’m parched to the point of dry mouth. I’m also desperate to wash away the bad taste in my mouth. I didn’t suck down any fuel while siphoning—thank god—but I can practically taste the stench. I can’t wait to get home and shower. “Ravenous.” I arch my brows at him playfully and take a long pull on the red plastic straw. His attention drifts to my mouth, and his eyes darken. Then that playful grin flattens into a scowl. His focus is hard, set, and so heated it feels like a living, breathing energy between us. Mesmerized, I slowly drag the straw out of my mouth and lick the tip as I release it.

In my periphery, a man enters the QuickieMart, headed straight for us. Greedy shifts closer and shelters my body between his and the rows of candy near the checkout. His body is so close, and yet he inches even closer and grasps my hip with one hand. He doesn’t shift back after the man passes. Nor does he move his hand. Why is that so hot? I peer up at him through my lashes, fighting back a grin. “Thirsty, Greedy?” He groans. “You’re killing me here, Artemis.” I snort. It’s the most unladylike sound imaginable. My mother would be appalled, but I’m so amused, I hardly have it in me to be embarrassed. “That’s a truly awful nickname. Please don’t call me that.” Chin dipped, he edges a little closer. “What should I call you, then?” I bite into my bottom lip and tip my head back. I can feel the warmth of his hand through my thin tank top. He holds me with just enough pressure to convey a fondness and obvious interest. “You can just call me Hunter,” I suggest.

signed you up to DD next weekend, too, babe.” Levi squeezes my hand in warning. Too far? It’s probably too far. I bite back a grin and school my expression. “Young lady. Perhaps it’s not my place,” the Pastor starts, as if that justifies what’ll come out of his mouth next, “but what sort of extracurriculars are you involved in that require a regular designated driver on Sunday mornings?” I offer my most saccharine smile. “Smut brunch, sir. It’s a spicy romance book club. Bottomless mimosas and romance novels are necessities.” I giggle. “They’re a match made in heaven.” I place extra emphasis on the last word. Levi coughs uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. Yep. Definitely too far. But I’m not one to back down from a challenge, so I double down. “Levi here, my boyfriend,” I emphasize, “loves supporting smut brunch. Isn’t that right, Dukey?” As soon as I say it out loud, I hear it. But the damage has already been done. I fight to keep from cringing and bat my lashes at him instead. Dukey it is. “Yeah, Daisycakes,” Levi confirms, still gasping for air after his coughing fit. “It’s cute when you get together with your friends. I’m happy to be your DD.” He drops my hand but wraps his arm around my shoulder. The pastor eyes us warily. Probably working on a retort. I’ve already come this far, and I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about me—not anymore—so I triple down, this time going for shock factor. “Dukey.” I giggle. My giggle evolves into a snort,...

“Life has a rhythm,” he whispers. “Everything happens for a reason, even if we don’t know what the reason is right away.”

When he finally pushes in, I exhale. “Fuck. You’re so warm, baby. So fucking tight.” My inner walls involuntarily flutter. Greedy moans in my ear. “Fuck, baby. Do that again. Squeeze around my finger and let me feel you.” I give a tentative clench, and moisture trickles from my entrance. His words and the feel of him have me so ramped up, I’m half convinced I’m floating right now. “Do it again.” With a groan, I obey. This time he thrusts up as I do it. He must hit some sort of internal nerve, because my whole body jolts in his lap, and a surge of moisture coats his hand. “Good girl. Just like that,” he encourages. “Good fucking girl.” Of its own accord, my pussy clamps around his hand. It’s so tight it aches. It’s the good kind of ache—a sensation that blossoms and grows with each stroke of his fingers against my inner walls. “Imagine that’s my cock inside you,” he growls in my ear. The moan that escapes me is so loud that the second it’s out of my mouth, we both freeze. We’re getting carried away. Way, way, away. I’ve never done anything intimate like this in public before. As desperate as I am to share everything with Greedy, I’d prefer to do it without an audience. For a long moment, we sit silently, silently surveying our friends across the way. Thankfully, no one has even looked our way. “Baby, we have to stop,” Greedy grits out into my hair. “If you moan like that again, I’m going to come in my pants.” I giggle, then I nearly snort, too. “You think that’s funny?” he ...

Changing tack, I put a hand to his chest and ask, “What can I do to help you, then?” He shifts back like he’s trying to make space that doesn’t exist. “Just get back in your seat so I can drive home.” Wait—what? This sudden coldness is a shock, and I don’t like his tone. “Hunter,” he warns, tipping his chin toward the passenger seat. “Just do it.” I raise one eyebrow, but I don’t budge. “Seriously?” His nostrils flare in response to my challenge. It’s cute when he’s huffy. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” he declares. Why the hell is he being so dramatic? Whatever the reason, he might as well have just flipped a switch in my brain. Brat Mode activated. Arms crossed over my chest, I lift my chin. “What if I don’t want to get back over in the passenger seat?” With a harsh breath in, he studies me through narrowed eyes. “Then we’re gonna have a real situation on our hands.” I purse my lips. “Oh yeah? And what kind of situation would that be?” He exhales, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His entire face is beet red now—from the dimple in his cheek to the tips of both ears. “You really want to know?” “Try me.” “Well, Daisy. There’s not a polite way to explain it, so I’ll just come out with it. I haven’t been able to get it up since my surgery, but my cock is rock hard right now with you sitting in my lap.”