Page 62 of Power Play

Clay’s head lolls back as he starts laughing silently, his palm covering his eyes. His whole body shudders, and his tee rides up a bit. My gaze falls on a sliver of his abs, making my mouth water. He felt incredible yesterday. All those hard lines and toned muscles. The man oozes sexual energy, and I’m ready to bet my monthly income that I’d say the same thing if I weren’t desperate for a good fuck.

Because I am. I’m fucking hungry for an orgasm, one I haven’t given myself.

“I thought only Colt calls me that,” he finally says, his eyes still twinkling with laughter.

“Everyone calls you that,” I correct him, lifting the mug to my mouth again. “You’re good with kids.”

He shrugs. “Maybe.” Then he sets his elbow on the table and leans his head onto his knuckles, squinting at me the whole time. “Does Maya’s father know about her eyes?”

The coffee feels slick and nauseous in my mouth. I force myself to swallow it, and then I tell him, “No. I don’t think he needs to.”

“Why not?” Clay frowns.

“Because I have sole custody. He isn’t interested in anything to do with her.”

“Wait…what?” He rears back. Both of his hands land on the table.

“We broke up, but I still tried to keep him in the loop about Maya. Once, she got a very high fever, and I was out of my mind with worry. So I sent him a text to let him know what was going on. He didn’t reply.” I duck my head, staring at my coffee, which is as black as my memories about that time of my life. “When she got better, I sent him another text to let him know she was fine.” Struggling to get the next words out, I start rapping my fingers on the table, a nervous staccato fueled by the anger that simmers in my veins. “That time, he did reply.” I look up, meeting Clay’s unwavering gaze. “I got a thumbs-up emoji. After that, I knew I needed to file for sole custody. Not surprisingly, Eli had nothing against it. So it’s been just Maya and me for a while now.”

“I’m sorry, Layla. I-I had no idea.”

I snicker. The sound is full of bitterness. “Why? You did warn me about him. You told me to leave him because you saw right through him, while I was completely blindsided. Why is this so surprising to you now?”

“Because I saw Maya.” He says it so simply, while my heart is ready to dance a fucking rumba, with butterflies joining the madhouse, fluttering their wings, flipping and flopping inside my belly. “I don’t know how it’s possible not to love someone like her. She’s precious. Your little Princess.”

I’m feeling so conflicted now, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I love him. I want everything with him. But I don’t deserve his love, nor I deserve happiness. I’m a terrible human being.

Standing up, I glance around the kitchen. The darkness outside the window catches my attention. I grab my mug from the table, and, choosing the negative energy brewing inside me, I say, “It’s getting late.”

As I slide to the dishwasher, I try to ignore what he’s doing. But it’s useless because everything about him puts me on high alert. The sound of the stool scraping the floor, followed by his steps—and then he’s behind me, his hands sneaking around my body to put his mug into the dishwasher. Once he’s done, he doesn’t move away, just stays rooted behind me.

His gentle fingertips on the bare skin of my shoulder are what I feel first when he brushes my hair away from my ear. My whole body tingles, spreading shivers down my spine. His hot breath hits my skin, making my breath hitch in my throat. His beard tickles my cheek when he bends his head down.

“I’m sorry for ruining your good mood,” Clay whispers. “I’m sorry for bringing him up.”

The sick reality is…we need to talk about Eli. I need to explain so many things to Clay. And, more than that, I should be the one saying sorry. Not him.

“It’s not your fault. Any mention of him does that to me,” I murmur and close my eyes because his body heat tempers my body and causes a light throbbing between my legs. Sighing deeply, I relax into his embrace. “Clay, what are we doing?”

“Getting to know each other again.” His soft lips press to my neck, and my eyes instantly shut. “Talking.” He shifts, his hand resting on my belly. That sends all my coherent thoughts into a purgatory. I’m worried he will understand what I’m hiding under all these loose T-shirts and dresses, but also, a part of me wants to let go and say fuck it. Because damn, I want him. “Coming,” Clay murmurs in my ear, sucking my earlobe into his mouth. “Can I touch you?”

Yes, please.Instead, I say, “I think we should wait.”

“I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet.” He hides his nose in my hair and inhales deeply. “But I want to make you come. You’re way too tense. Can I?”

I should say no. I should say we need to wait. It will be better to wait.

But that’s…fucking impossible.

“Yes, you can,” I whisper, pressing my butt into his groin. The outline of his hard dick sends me spiraling. I want to protest, to beg him to fuck me. To drop to my knees and take him into my mouth. I don’t want to wait. Not with him.

But I’m going to play by his rules.

Because that’s what I always do where Clay Rodgers is concerned.

Clay slips his hand under my leggings, moving slowly until his fingers brush over my clit through my panties. I part my legs wider, and he slides his palm deeper, cupping me and releasing me again and again. My panties become wetter as he continues moving two fingers up and down my folds. It feels so good, my mind drifts to all the times we slept together. The memories are so fucking satisfying.

“So wet for me,” he praises in a low voice, finally dragging my panties aside and trapping my clit between his fingers. His movements are slow as if he’s testing me at first. A few circles over my clit, and then his fingers slip down to my center, teasing my opening. “So fucking wet.”

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