Page 21 of Tackle

He glanced down at it and shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“Worse?” Her fingers still floated around the edge of the bruise. “It looks so painful. Let me go get you some ice.”

Even though he was enjoying her touch, he reached out, capturing her arm before she could speed away. “I’m good. Promise. I iced it earlier and will again when I get home.” He pulled her until she stood in front of him, placing a kiss to her wrist before releasing her to place his hands on her hips, his long fingers almost bridging the expanse of them.

“I don’t like that you’re hurt.” Her hair fell over her shoulders curtaining her face as she stared down at him.

Lost in her eyes, his voice was gruff when he said, “It’s the cost of playing the game.”

“Maybe so, but I still don’t have to like it.” Her tongue peeked out and licked her top lip. “I’ve heard somewhere, kisses make things all better.”

The thought of her lips on his skin had his heart racing and his hands gripped her hips tighter. “Funny, I’ve heard that too.”

“Maybe we should give it a try?”

He knew he was playing with fire, but found himself murmuring, “Couldn’t hurt.” At least not anything that wasn’t below his belt.

Taking a small step forward, he nearly groaned when she straddled his legs to sit on his lap. She ran a hand up his arm and her feather-light touch had him gritting his teeth against the need to pull her closer. She stopped once she reached the outer edge of the bruise, her lips replacing her fingertips, giving the spot the gentlest of kisses.

Fire burned in his gut then raced lower, making his dick, already primed, go instantly hard.

With his need for her firmly in control, when she raised her head, his hands left her hips to cup her face, pulling it toward his until their lips came within a hair’s breadth of connecting. He growled against them, “I’ve decided, one more spot needs your attention.”

Fingers digging into her scalp, he took her mouth.

Good Lord, nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

Or felt so good.

Like tunnel vision, he lost all sense of awareness for anything other than the woman in his arms. And her sweet surrender.

It was surreal, thrilling, and humbling.

Never had he experienced such emotion from a single kiss.

Heart pounding, he knew he had to stop before he lost all control.

Reluctantly, he eased back a little, giving one last pull to her bottom lip before planting his forehead to hers. He breathed in a harsh breath. “Tell me you felt that.”

Her hand skimmed over his shoulder, her fingers trailing up his neck to his jaw where she caressed the scruff there with her thumb. “Oz,” his name was a sigh against his lips, “I’m pretty sure I’ll still be feeling that tomorrow.”

So lost in the memory of their kiss, Oz barely remembered the drive home after following Emerson to hers and making sure she got in safely.

Wired, he ran up the stairs instead of using the elevator to reach his apartment. It didn’t matter that it was almost midnight or that he’d had a full week of practice or even that he played in a game that day, he was full of energy, still on a high from the taste of Emerson’s lips. There was no way in hell he’d be falling asleep. Not without burning off his excess energy first.

Kicking the door to his apartment closed, he went directly to the bedroom. Not wanting to lose momentum from his sprint up the stairs, he didn’t bother to change out of his jeans, just went straight for the treadmill, turning it on. He didn’t stop running until he was a hot, sweaty mess and his legs felt like jelly. At some point he’d lost his t-shirt, using it as a towel to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

Panting, he guzzled water from the fridge as he paced the kitchen in an attempt to cool down. His mind still raced, but his body was done for. Sweat covered his chest and dripped down the center of his back to disappear into the waistband of his jeans. He needed a fucking shower. Hopefully the hot water would do what the exercise couldn’t. Relax his mind enough to sleep.

Steam filled the small bathroom as he kicked off his shoes and stripped out of the rest of his clothes. The tub shower was close quarters once the sliding-glass door was closed, encasing him in, and he swore as he banged his elbow reaching for the soap.

Tipping his head back into the spray, he closed his eyes, letting the hot water do its work. That was a mistake. The image of the way Emerson looked after their kiss came to haunt him. Her lips, slightly parted and dewy. Her drowsy, soft eyes. Her flushed cheeks.

Hard and aching, he ran the flat of his hand down the expanse of his abs and took himself in hand. Gave his cock a few long, slow pulls before grabbing it at the base and squeezing. Hissing between his teeth, the hot water massaged his scalp while his right hand did the same to his dick. A few short strokes and a twist at the head, followed by longer strokes base to tip.

He pictured Emerson. How she’d straddled his lap, her fingers sliding through his hair. Her lips soft and yielding and parting so he could taste her sweetness.

His dick twitched in his hand and he pumped it harder. Faster.

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