Page 41 of Home Game

“Where to?” I ask her.

“Anywhere,” she says, a playful smirk on her lips. “Anywhere but here.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Igive you the freedom to drive me anywhere, alone, at night, and you take me to an abandoned driving range by the state fairgrounds. Wow, Wyatt Stone. You really know how to woo a lady.”

He laughs hard, letting his head fall back against his seat, which leaves his eyes off of the chicken and rice I’ve been smelling the entire drive out here. I snag the bag and turn my back to him in an attempt to keep it to myself.

“Hey! No way you’re getting all of that,” he says, his seat belt clicking as he unbuckles and lurches over the console to put his arms around me. I fumble with the wrapper on the fork, tugging it off with my teeth while he fights to take the box container of food from my other hand.

“Hey, buddy. Get your own!” I twist back and forth in an attempt to shirk him off, but his arms only get tighter around me. And then I stop fighting because his palms are wrapped around my biceps, and he’s squeezing me against his chest, and his mouth is at my neck. Our laughter stops. My chin moves to my shoulder, where all I can see are his parted lips, tonguecaught in his front teeth. He breathes out as a soft smile forms, the air against my neck sending goose bumps down my spine.

His hands glide down my arms, and I release the container and fork when he takes them from me. He sets them on the dashboard with his left hand, which quickly returns to me, his palm gentle against my face.

My gaze settles on his mouth, on the healing spot on his upper lip, the stitch there but the skin no longer pink or bruised.

“Does it hurt?” I reach up and lightly run my finger across it.

He shakes his head, his eyes flitting to meet mine for a moment before his attention immediately returns to my mouth.

“You took that punch for me, didn’t you?”

His head tilts an inch or two away from me as he glances up.

“I really took it for Whiskey, but sure, you too.”

I shake with a soft laugh and twist in my seat and his arms so I’m facing him more head-on.

“We need to work on your game, Wyatt. First, the abandoned driving range, then you give away heroics meant for me to a two-hundred-pound lineman.”

“Two fifty-seven,” he says with a shrug.

His smile comes in sharp and fast, and I look up at the ceiling of the cab with exasperation. His hand moves along my jaw, though, coaxing my attention back to his face.

“You know it was for you.”

A new kind of quiet settles in, his eyes roaming my face as his thumbs caress my jawline. I move my hand up his chest, his muscles hard underneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt. I snake my palm around his neck and shift my weight, coaxing him to sit back in his seat as I climb over the center console to straddle his lap. His chest rises and falls faster, my body moving with every breath he takes as my palms flatten against his chest and I let my weight sink down on him.

I can feel how hard he is under his shorts, and a low grumble escapes his mouth as I position myself so the neediest parts of us meet. I lean into him and kiss his upper lip gently, careful not to hurt him. His hands slide to my hips and he pulls me up into him, then urges me to rock back again, his want unmistakable. I nip at his bottom lip, and his teeth graze against mine as his hips shift to push his hardon against me.

I give in and kiss him deeper, still careful to keep my attention on his plump bottom lip, my tongue meeting his. I’ve never had a kiss feel so instantly perfect. It’s as though our mouths are meant to be together, to connect like this. He coaxes my head to the side so he can kiss his way along my jawline and to my neck, and I grind my hips on him to relieve the impossible need growing between my legs.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Peyton,” he murmurs in my ear.

I give him more of my neck to taste, and his tongue draws a seductive line up to my earlobe, which he nips with his teeth. My hands drop to the bottom of his shirt, and I gather it up his abdomen, my knuckles grazing against every ripple of his abs and over the hard contours of his chest as he lets me pull his shirt up over his head.

“How are you built like this?” I half tease, dropping my mouth to his shoulder to take a soft bite of his salty skin.

His hands shift from my hips to my back, roaming up either side of my spine and over the elastic band of my sports bra. They deftly slip underneath, rolling the stretchy fabric up my back a few inches before his thumbs hook into the taut fabric under each breast. I sit up and meet his heated stare, nodding before slipping my shirt over my head. His gaze drops from mine to my chest, his thumbs sliding across my nipples underneath my sports bra before his hands work to push the fabric up to expose me to him completely.

He sits up quickly, his mouth covering one of my nipples while I wrap my arms around his head, holding him to me. I never want him to stop. His tongue flicks my tender skin as his hands drop to my waist and encourage me to rock against him more. I roll my hips, feeling my own wetness in my panties and I’m sure my cheer shorts. His hands move to the backs of my thighs, his fingers clawing under my shorts until his hands are basically cupping my ass cheeks as I roll my body against him harder.

I can feel the edge coming closer, my core tightening as every rock of my hips brings a new promise of pleasure, and I let his name slip from my lips.

“Wyatt,” I plead again.

He tugs on my nipple with his teeth, then sucks it into his mouth, soothing the tip with his tongue as he works me against him in his lap. I begin to pant, and I press one palm on the ceiling as my other hand holds on to his shoulder for leverage. The wave comes soon after, and Wyatt isn’t far behind as his mouth opens and his eyes roll back.

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