Page 68 of Second Down Fake

Diego’s soft brown eyes bored into mine, a look of intensity I’d only seen him wear on the field. I shivered. “This is the part where you tell me it’s a joke. All of this is a joke.”

“Call my bluff.” His voice rumbled beneath the pounding of my heartbeat. I blinked, the words piercing my lust, but not quite shifting into a place where they made sense. “If you don’t want this, call my bluff. But fuck, Cassandra, do I want this.”

The proof of that was imprinted on my ass. He cupped my chin, a calloused thumb riding over my cheekbone. I shook my head. “No. I want this too.”

His lips crashed onto mine, sucking all the oxygen from my body and leaving me feeling light-headed. His tongue teased my lips open as his hands reached under the hem of my shirt. Each brush of his fingertips lit me up like a Christmas tree, my entire body buzzing with an energy that concentrated between my legs.

I gripped his hair in my palm, my other hand brushing down his jaw and cupping his neck, my thumb strumming over his Adam’s apple that’d been driving me nuts all night. His fingers brushed down my spine, pausing over the lacy clasp of my bra and continuing a frustrating meander further down. He slipped his palm down the back of my pants, fingers spread as he palmed my ass.

“Fuck, you are sexy,” he growled into my ear before nibbling my ear lobe. A laughably untrue compliment at any other time than now. Because hell if Diego didn’t make me feel sexy. And not a drunk at three a.m. and sort of horny sexy. A type of sexy that felt more circumstantial than sincere. His eyes drank me in like I was an oasis in a desert. Like I was a present on Christmas Day. Like I was exactly what he wanted.

An insane thought that I reveled in, regardless.

“You’re missing the show,” I rasped out as his lips traveled down my neck and his fingers played with the straps of my bra. His thumb brushed the band, tracing the back down to the swell of my breast and back up. I arched my back, urging him to dip his fingers under the fabric, and when that didn’t work, I ground my ass against his lap.

He nipped my shoulder, the light jolt of pain somehow making the throbbing between my thighs worse. So much worse. “Is that what you want?”

The biting? The kissing? The unbearable teasing? Absolutely.

“Yes, please.”

His lips curled in a smile against my skin. “You want to watch the show? Okay.”

He lifted me out of his lap before I realized my mistake. My palms pressed against the cool glass of the window, catching my balance at the same time as he steadied me, palms on my hips. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it was a great idea, anyway.” He pulled my hips into his as one hand wound its way up my stomach. My shirt bunched under my arms and I pulled it off as his hand cupped my covered breast.

I closed my eyes, setting my forehead against the window with a groan. “This is torture.”

“Torture?” His breath was hot against my ear. He’d stripped off his shirt and his torso grazed my back. “Torture is having you call at two in the morning to invite me over and having to say no.”

His fingers unclasped the bra and my knees buckled in relief as he pulled the scrap of lace off. It fluttered to the floor along with any rational thought I had left. He palmed my breast, and I lost all the irrational thought. I rubbed against him, the pain between my legs unbearable.

“Not yet,” he muttered into my ear. “Patience.”

One arm wrapped around my chest, he eased down my pants to the closing chorus of Viva Las Vegas. The AI voice on the television announced another song in fifteen minutes.

“Do you think you can wait fifteen more minutes?”

I shook my head. I didn’t think I would last one more minute. Hell, probably not five seconds if he kept talking in that low grumbly fuck me voice.

“Me neither,” he admitted into my ear as his fingers hooked my thong, pulling it down my legs.

I writhed against the cold glass, faintly aware I should be actively taking part but unable to make my body cooperate. Diego removed his pants and rustled around in the duffel bag that I’d set by the door. A second later, his dick slid between my thighs and his arms wrapped around my waist. “Tell me you want me to fuck you, Cassandra.”

I closed my eyes, head falling back against his shoulder as my arm wrapped around to grip his ass. “Mm-hmm.”

He shook his head. “No. Say it. I want to know that you want this as much as I do.”

I was hopelessly wet. Hopelessly horny. Hopeless. “Fuck me, Diego. Please. I want it so bad.”

I opened my eyes and stared up at him. His jaw tensed and he drove into me. He filled me completely, my entire body brimming with electricity as he pressed his palm against the window, the other gripping my waist. I leaned back into him. His hard muscled chest molding against my back as his hand slipped down my hip, navigating through the small patch of hair before his thumb swiped across my clit.

My hips bucked, and I moaned, the pleasure of having him around me and in me almost too much to take. His thumb made another pass and this time, he didn’t wait for me to move. He loosened his grip on the windowpane, curling his arm around my chest, his fingers playing with my nipple in the same intoxicating rhythm as his hand on my clit.

“Diego, I’m close,” I panted. I wasn’t just close. I was done. Head over heels. Obsessed. Finding an orgasm with the last guy I dated required dinner, a toy, and an engraved invitation, but Diego had me on the verge of coming within the span of a cheesy song from the ‘60s.

“Good.” He tightened his grip on my chest, pulling me flush with him so his breath warmed my ear. “Because I’m not going to last long, baby. After I’ve been thinking about you like this all night. Fuck, all week. Since the first time I saw you. And I want to feel you orgasm while I’m burrowed deep inside you. I want you to feel how bad you need me.”

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