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The Cleanup: a Washington Rampage Sports Romance by Megan Green (1)

Prologue

Liv

I shouldn’t be doing this.

The words echo over and over in my head, even as I allow him to lower me onto the bed.

His shaggy hair falls forward, the strands hiding the gorgeous chocolate eyes that have been boring into me since the moment I walked into the room earlier this evening. With a gentle jerk of his chin, he clears his vision, giving me a heart-stopping smile.

My eyes roll back in my head as he buries his face in my neck. His soft lips caress the sensitive flesh there, causing a wave of electricity to rush throughout my entire body. I feel his smile against my skin, and I know he likes the reaction he’s getting from me.

I shouldn’t be doing this, my conscience repeats, yet still I roll my body against his, desperate for the friction, craving the contact of his hard body against my own.

Get up, Liv. Get up, fix your damn clothes, and get the hell out of here while you still can. I hear the words. I know, deep down, that they’re right. I know I’m going to regret this in the morning.

But right now? Right now, I just can’t bring myself to care.

Brandon reaches behind his head, sliding his shirt off in one swift movement. The heat radiating off his skin as he presses himself back into me is almost unbearable.

I need more.

And I need it now.

I squirm beneath him, frantically trying to remove my own shirt so that I can feel him bare against me. Luckily, it doesn’t take long for him to realize my intention. He pulls back for just a moment, his hands running down my body to where the hem of my shirt hits the top of my jeans. In no time at all, the thin fabric is gone, and I’m rewarded with the delicious heat of his naked chest pressed against my own.

His mouth finds mine, his tongue delving deep past my lips, as one of his hands comes up to cup my breast. I moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating low in my throat, and I feel his hard length twitch against my thigh at the noise. A quick brush of his thumb against my nipple causes my breath to catch in my throat, my thighs rubbing together fiercely in a futile attempt to relieve the ache building between them.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Brandon murmurs against my lips. “And so fucking sweet. All night long, I’ve wondered what these lips would taste like.”

“And? Do they meet your expectations?” I breathe out, loving the way his husky voice makes me feel.

Beautiful.

Sexy.

Downright fucking dirty.

“No,” he says, trailing his tongue down my neck, stopping just before he reaches my breast. I mewl in protest. “No, you fucking blew anything I imagined right out of the water. And, now, I need to know how the rest of you measures up.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, his fingers slide the fabric of my bra aside, and his tongue begins its assault on my nipple. And assault is really the only word that can describe what he’s doing. He moves so fast, his lips sucking, his tongue lashing, that there’s no other term. He’s not gentle. He’s not careful. It’s as if his lust has completely taken over any semblance of thought in his brain, leaving behind only a frenzied man in need of release.

And I freaking love that it’s me who’s making him feel this way.

So, despite the fact that I know this is wrong, despite the fact that I know I’m going to hate myself tomorrow, I throw my head back in ecstasy and let my pleasure take over.

It’s just one night. I’m never going to see him again.

And, no matter how much I might try to deny it, I’m a grown-ass woman. I have needs. Needs that have been ignored for far too long.

Brandon is the perfect way to scratch this infernal itch. No strings, no commitment.

No worries that I somehow might turn into my mother.

Tonight’s just about sex. Nothing my mother did was ever just about sex.

Tonight, I’m going to get what I need.

I’ll worry about tomorrow later.

Brandon must sense the tension coursing through my veins because he stills, his face lifting from my chest as he warily eyes me. “We don’t have to do this. You just say the word, and I’m gone. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Ugh. Does he have to be such a fucking gentleman right now?

I reach down to palm the bulge in his jeans, causing his eyes to flutter closed. “Believe me, I want this. Now, shut the hell up and fuck me.”

I don’t have to ask twice.

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