Home > Broken Hearts (Campus Nights #3)

Broken Hearts (Campus Nights #3)
Author: Rebecca Jenshak








“Everybody in?” Liam glances into the rearview mirror for the all clear as we pile into the back seat of his truck. He’s got the fun task of chauffeuring his drunk teammates home.

I start to tell him we’re all set, but suddenly my mouth is occupied.

Is it weird to make out with a girl while your buddy is half sitting on your lap? Liam’s truck isn’t that roomy, and there are five of us smashed into the back seat. My hand is at Layla’s waist but also touching Maverick’s ass.

I concentrate on her soft lips and the faint taste of raspberries and liquor. She’s soaking one side of me. The party we were at had a wet T-shirt contest, and Layla was an eager and enthusiastic participant. I thought she was into Jordan, who’s jammed in on the other side of me next to Ketcham, but her lips don’t lie.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and Mav jumps. Or he tries to. There isn’t really anywhere to go. “Woah there, buddy. Aim that thing the other way.”

“It’s my phone.” That’s all I get out before Layla starts kissing me again. Her fingers glide through my hair, and her tongue does laps around my mouth.

When the truck stops, I come up for air. Damn. That was unexpected. The doors open, and Maverick and Ketcham tumble out from either side. The rest of us follow.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say to Liam. Layla is on my heels. I didn’t realize she was coming with me. Though maybe I should have. Looks like the party has moved to our place. I head straight to my room while the rest of the guys grab beers and head out back on the deck where people are hanging. Layla is glued to my side.

I’m tired, but when she starts kissing me again, I don’t protest.

“You’re so hot. How have I never noticed you before?” she asks between kisses. Her hands make quick work of my button and zipper, and she pushes my jeans and boxers down enough that my dick pops out. We’re not wasting any time here.

“You too,” I say, ignoring the question altogether.

She giggles. “Oh my god, I love your accent.”


“Can you record my voice mail for me?” She takes off her shirt. Her bra is white and see-through and still wet.

Uhh, what?

“You know, like, Layla isn’t here right now. Leave a message, and she’ll get back to you.” Her head bounces side to side as she mocks my Minnesota accent.

“Maybe later,” I say and motion toward my dick hanging out between us. He’s starting to get shy and call this thing off.

“Oh, right.” She sets her phone on my desk and then unhooks her bra revealing small, perky tits that jiggle as she lowers herself in front of me. Her lips graze the head of my cock, and I suck in a breath through my teeth.

Any reservations I have about doing this—and I have a few—fade to the background. She stands and pushes me onto the bed. While she works on tugging my jeans down over my thighs, not an easy feat, I kick off my shoes and lie back.

Fuck, it’s been a long day. A long two days.

It isn’t every day that a college hockey team makes it past the regular season. In fact, it’s a first for Valley U hockey.

We started partying just after breakfast. No, let me back up. Celebrations for winning the hockey west quarterfinals really began the minute we got back to Valley late last night, but it’s blurred into today. Breakfast and lunch were liquid only, and I’m starting to feel it. I need food and maybe a nap. I wonder if Layla’s got any snacks on her. I want to ask, but my dick is in her mouth, and that seems rude. Plus, if she answers, she’ll have to stop sucking me.

I close my eyes and focus. Food later. How long can this last anyway? I haven’t had a blow job in… so long I’m embarrassed to count backward to find out. And Layla’s mouth is warm and inviting. She keeps popping off and kissing my legs and stomach, and every time she switches the focus away from my dick, I groan.

“That feel good?” she asks as she runs her hands along my inner thighs and kisses my knees.

The correct answer is yes, and that’s what I say, even though I really want her to bring her lips closer to my dick again. She’s got a whole routine—kissing down my legs and then back up, a few quick sucks of my cock, and repeat.

It’s all very sexy and frustrating, but I’ll be honest, I’m starting to lose interest. I plan out what I’m going to eat. We don’t have a lot of food in the apartment. I think there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge. Or there was this morning. The likelihood that’s still left is small. Maybe I can get something delivered or talk one of the guys into doing a taco run.

Yeah, tacos. Tacos will be good.

With that settled, I turn my attention back to Layla. My hands tangle in her hair, and I guide her back north.

“Uh-uh,” she says and climbs up my body. Her hands wrap around my wrists, and she pins them to the bed above my head. Well, that’s kinda hot. Her tits are in my face, and she’s putting just the right amount of friction on my dick. I grind up into her.

“No hands.” She’s a bossy little thing.

Then she drops back between my legs and continues adoring my thighs. Is this a thing now? Did I miss the memo on foreplay involving a thorough kissing of my hairy legs? Do some guys really like having their calves kissed? I’m clearly not one of them. Or maybe I’m just too drunk to appreciate it.

My mind drifts again—tacos and maybe a Dr. Pepper. I hardly ever drink soda, but man, am I craving one right now.

I pull my hands behind my head and let out a long breath. Now Layla’s massaging my legs, and I’m totally down for that. Hell yeah. Her hands are magic. My limbs relax. I guess I didn’t realize how tightly strung I was. It’s been quite a month.

The hockey season is coming to an end, which means do or die games at every turn. Plus, I just broke up with my girlfriend of six years. We’d been doing the long-distance thing since high school, and it just wasn’t working. I was starting to dislike her, and that made me dislike myself for being with someone I didn’t really like anymore. It’s complicated. When you’ve known someone since kindergarten, you don’t want to get to that point where you dislike them. We have history, and it wasn’t all bad times. It just isn’t right anymore. Still sucks.

Speaking of sucking… or not sucking, as is the current state. My poor underused dick gives up, and I just enjoy the free massage. Layla’s hands are small, but man, she’s got a firm grip, and all the tension slowly leaves my body until I’m putty.

Tacos are really going to hit the spot. That Dr. Pepper, too, because I’m fading. Food and caffeine will be the perfect pick-me-up.

That’s my last thought before Layla’s screech bounces off the walls of my room. “Oh my god!”

My head’s heavy as I lift it from the mattress. She stands in front of me, naked from the waist up and fire in her gaze.

I’m about to ask what’s wrong when my bedroom door flies open. Maverick and Jordan crowd into the doorway, taking in the scene. Their heads volley between us.

“What the hell, guys? Get out.”

Jordan shields his eyes, but neither leaves.

“Is everything okay in here?” Mav asks. “Was that a happy scream, or someone call 911 scream?”

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