Page 33 of Force Play

You’d have to be dead to be bored with Indie around. Even now, my cheeks ache from just reflecting on that night.

Finally, my eyelids are heavy as I pad to the bathroom and give myself a full service wipe down. This time, sleep comes easier when I fall back into bed moments later.

Chapter 12

Dom

All of my best dreams, for the last year, have featured the feisty stunner sleeping just below me, but last night, they were more vivid than usual—more focused—like the details that were getting hazy with passing time are now renewed at having her here again.

Loud banging at my bedroom door startles me, making one of those dreams where Indie was tracing the lines of ink on my thigh fade to black as I drag myself unwillingly back to reality. That is, until I’m alert enough to realize that the real thing is better, and waiting outside my room. My legs tangle in the sheets and I almost lose my front teeth when I tumble out of bed in my rush to get to her.

“Let’s go, Sleeping Beauty!” calls the real-life version of my dream woman.

“Give me a minute.” I kick my legs free, and the sight that awaits me when I twist the knob is better than I could’ve imagined.

Leaning against the doorframe, and looking as impatient as always, is Indie, swimming in a threadbare t-shirt; my high school baseball team logo across her chest. A rolled-up pair of basketball shorts sit high around her midsection where her waist narrows, making the curve of her hips stand out.

When my parents came to visit a few weeks ago, my mom brought some things from high school she thought I would want to keep and stashed them in that closet. Mostly awards and memorabilia from college, but there was also a stack of clothes that she said were too sentimental to get rid of. I hadn’t planned to keep much, but now seeing Indie in them, I know this set earned a permanent pardon from the landfill.

“Can you give me a ride back to my apartment?” With her arms crossed, she drums her fingers against her elbow. Poking her tongue against her cheek, she looks me up and down. Her eyes linger momentarily over my black boxer briefs. “You couldn’t put clothes on?”

“Good morning to you too. How did you sleep?” I ignore her question, pretty sure it was rhetorical since I clearly didn’t bother with clothes, too fucking eager to get to her, but it worked out in my favor. Partially because I like the feel of her eyes on me, and equally because I wanted to remind her of everything she’s missing out on.

“Fine, I suppose. The bath was nice,” she admits with a shrug, her gaze squarely on my face now.

“Don’t you want to know how I slept?”

“You look well rested. That’s enough information for me.”

“Do I now? Tell me more about how amazing I look.”

“That’s not—you know what, if you want me to go into detail, I’m happy to.” Her overly sweet smile tells me I’m in for it and I can’t wait.

“I really do.”

“You have pillow creases on your cheek, so that was my first clue. But it’s the drool crust on the corner of your mouth that really sells it.” Her pointer finger lands on the right side of her face.

My fingers wipe the corner of my mouth. Sure as shit, there is crusty spit in the corner. “I blame you,” I tell her, letting my eyes drop to where her crossed arms are pushing her unrestrained tits up.

“How is that my fault?”

“My REM sleep was filled with some very vivid dreams about how much you love my tattoo, and the way you draped yourself over me to get a closer look at it.”

Her eyes drop to the art. There’s no hiding the effect she’s having on me as my cock swells, going semi-hard under her gaze.

“Those perfect tawny nipples brushing against my stomach as you kissed a path from there to my—”

“Enough.” She catches me off guard when her hand comes up to cover my mouth. This is becoming a habit of hers, and I’m not mad about it. “I don’t have time for this.” Her hand stays clamped over my mouth. “Brianna switched her flight. I’m not sure if I should give her space or give her a ride, but either way . . .” Her words trail off and I wrap my hand around her wrist, kissing her palm before I remove it.

“You want to get out of here?” My hand stays where it is on her wrist and she doesn’t move to pull it away until my eyes drop to the shirt again.

“What? Did you expect me to sleep in my jean shorts and tank?”

Probably not the time to tell her I’d hoped she’d sleep naked like she did last time. “No, of course not.” I pull on my neck. “I . . . uh, should have offered you something.”

“It’s fine. Snooping was more fun. Frankly, I’m disappointed I didn’t find anything incriminating.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

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