More Than a Memory by Marie James Read Free Book Online Page A

there, handsome.” Her drawl is slow, betraying her attempt to sound sober.
    Simone, the sexy as hell non-student.
    “Hey, Simone.” I nod toward the red cup in her hand. “You get an early start?”
    She grins and lifts the cup to her lips. “Always.”
    “This party is pretty big,” I say, looking around, trying to ignore her fingers as they skate down my stomach and hook inside the waist of my jeans.
    “The first frat party of the semester is always big.” She stumbles closer to me, and I have to catch her by the arms to keep her from knocking us both over.
    “Easy,” I whisper in her ear as she lays her head against my chest.
    “Wanna get out of here?” Her face tilts up and her eyes meet mine. She blinks rapidly, and I lift a brow, trying to decide whether she has something in her eyes or she’s attempting to look sexy and failing. I appraise her. Still sexy, but nowhere near as put together as she was that first day in class.
    “I just got here. Do you need a ride home?”
    She nods and bites her lip. “I need a good, hard ride.”
    I grin down at her. Only nine o’clock and she’s drunk and ready to fuck. I wonder if she was a Delta before she graduated. With that thought, I make a mental note to check on the Delta girls in Washington. If Emerson is slutting it up in college, I’ll lose my damn mind.
    Simone presses her tits harder against my chest, and as much as my dick needs the attention, drunk girls are not my thing. I’ve seen too many friends hook up with a chick who has buyer’s remorse the next day and shouts rape.
    Simone doesn’t seem like the type to complain even if the entire team gangbanged her, but I’m not willing to take my chances. Besides, if a girl can’t participate, there’s really no point. Most guys are just looking for a girl to sink inside of, but I’m more interactive than that.
    “Do you want to give me a ride?” she whispers against my jaw.
    “You’re drunk, beautiful.” I push her hair off her forehead. She is gorgeous, in an overly done up sort of way.
    She nips my bottom lip and the sweet scent of strawberry daiquiri, or something similar, wafts up. It’s not entirely unpleasant, and I don’t push her away when her tongue brushes my lips.
    Just because I don’t like drunken sex doesn’t mean I’m not down for a little impromptu make out session.
    I suck her cold, fruit-flavored tongue into my mouth, and her breath hitches. Her hands move to rest near my zipper, and my cock thickens, angling toward her touch.
    “You want me,” she pants, her fingers finding my straining erection over my jeans.
    “You’re drunk,” I remind her even as my cock thrums behind the denim.
    “I can fuck drunk,” she assures me, taking my lips again.
    Her body swivels against mine, rubbing seductively, enticing me to break my own rules. I pull my mouth from hers, my cock straining against my zipper, and trail kisses down her neck, the chemical taste of her perfume stinging my tongue as I lick her skin. I drag my head away and take a long pull on my beer. You’d think it would be a turn off, but I can’t recall ever hooking up with a girl who didn’t leave makeup, perfume, or lotion of some sort on my tongue.
    Her eyelids flutter open, her eyes glazed over and heated. She turns her attention to the zipper of my jeans as the beer washes her taste from my mouth and I stop her just before my dick pops out. We’re still standing in the front yard of the frat house. I haven’t even made it inside and she doesn’t give one fuck that she’s about to flash my junk to all the sober people walking up.
    “Whoa,” I tell her as I button my jeans.
    She half-stumbles back a step and sticks out a pouty bottom lip. Honestly, she’d be adorable if it weren’t for the disheveled hair and slightly ruined makeup.
    “Let’s get you out of here,” I say, wrapping an arm around her.
    “Finally,” she says, her tone husky.
    She steadies herself against my side as I pull out my