Exclusive: The Night Shift by Annie Crown Excerpt

About The Night Shift:

*A TikTok Sensation!*

A sweet encounter between a bookworm and a basketball player turns steamy in the stacks after hours . . .

Kendall Holiday spends her Fridays exactly where she wants to be: ensconced in a romance novel in an empty college library working the graveyard shift. The quiet of the library is dependable, and gives Kendall an excellent excuse for skipping out on the loud, raucous start to the weekend. Lost in the pages of her favorite love stories, Kendall blocks out the world—until Vincent Knight, the school’s star basketball player, turns up.

Handsome, tall, and extremely popular, Vincent’s a standout on the court, but he’s out of his depth in the stacks: he’s got an urgent assignment due and doesn’t have a clue where to start. When his meet-cute with Kendall turns into a steamy make-out session, neither are quite prepared for what comes next.

Opposites might attract in romance novels . . . but it takes a lot more truth than tropes to make it work in real life.

Frolic-Exclusive Excerpt [Explicit]:

My muscles flutter, my abs contract, and my hips buck up against Vincent’s hands. But he holds steady, an immovable wall of muscle and bone. I’m pinned. I have nowhere to go. And there’s a tide rising in me, threatening to wash me right over the edge of something enormous and a little bit terrifying. I grab at Vincent’s wrist, not sure if I’m trying to pull his hand away (to tell him that something is building and that the magnitude of it scares me) or if I’m trying to hold him closer (because I think I might actually kill him if he stops what he’s doing).

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “You’re okay.”

“Vincent,” I say, and it’s a warning-or maybe a plea. I can’t tell.

“I’ve got you, Kendall,” he says. “Come.”

He presses his mouth to my center again and sucks hard.

The knot inside me pulls tight and, in one burst, comes undone. My eyelids flutter. My mouth falls open. I dig my fingernails into Vincent’s skin and hair, tensing involuntarily as I gasp for air. And then the pressure moves through me, like a wave in a storm, leaving behind slack muscles and oversensitive nerves. I shiver and sob beneath him, but Vincent doesn’t let up. He keeps pressing, pumping, sucking at me until I’m pressing at his head and begging, in a mess of words I can’t even untangle, to have mercy.

The mattress dips and bounces, and then Vincent’s up above me again and pressing a kiss to my mouth. I’m too dazed to do anything but mimic him, my tongue clumsy and my breathing still quick. When he pulls back to look at me, his eyes-the warmest shade of brown-are sparkling with something like triumph and wonder.

I feel more than pretty.

I feel like the fucking main character.