Page 65 of Play the Last Card

But some did involve meeting his parents, and a wedding and kids someday, and how we might celebrate birthdays and holidays.

Okay, I may have got a little carried away but without him physically here to distract me I let my thoughts run away with themselves. Just for a little while, I indulged myself in what a future with Scott might be like.

Not to mention, he gave me multiple orgasms the morning before he left on this work trip of his. I’ve never been so horny in my life.

Just thinking about him and his hands on body and his lips on my neck gives me shivers.

A knock at the door echoes down the front corridor, pulling me out of my day dream.

Scott leans on the door frame. Jeans tight around his thighs, black shirt stretched against his muscled biceps, faded black cap pulled down over his head. There are dark circles under his eyes and the ends of his hair poke out of the edges of his cap. He needs a good night's sleep and a haircut.

His tall frame invades my space.

“Hi.” I breathe out. The hand clutching the door tightens, holding me steady. I glance up into his face, smile spreading across mine as the blush starts to heat up my neck.

I am weak for this man.

“Hi, you.” He sweeps the cap off his head and dips down, his lips capturing mine. His hands creep around my waist, locking me in his arms and I let mine drape over his shoulders as I stand on my toes.

The kiss is soft and gentle and the perfect hello.

My body relaxes into his. He pulls back, trailing his lips along my jaw lightly before he drops down and buries his face into my neck.

I laugh as his hot breath caresses my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into my neck.

“Oh?” I tease, my fingers finding his hair and gliding themselves through it.

“Yeah.” He pulls his face back, a feigned pout on his expression. “Say it back.”

Shaking my head, I barely hold myself back. “I missed you, too.”

He kisses me again.

“Smells good in here.” He toes off his sneakers at the door, tangling our fingers together and letting me lead him toward the kitchen.

“It’s the pasta bake. One of my nan’s recipes.”

“Fuck yes,” he groans.

I laugh, pulling my hand away from his and walking around the island to check the oven. The cheese is starting to bubble and my stomach growls.

“Do you want wine? It’ll be done in another ten or so.” I open the fridge to pull out the bottle of rosé I picked up on my way home from seeing Pops after school today.

“I’m okay.” Scott shakes his head when I look up at him.

He is still standing, hands on the back of the stool he stands in front of. He is clutching the stool so tightly that his knuckles begin to turn white. I tug on a strand of hair that's fallen over my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I—” He clears his throat. “Can we talk? I have to tell you something.”

Dread drips into my stomach, slow and steady, weighing me down.

All my fantasies, all the scenarios I dreamt up over the past few days come rushing back through my head. One by one, burning from the outside in. The pictures I see in my head shriveling up and falling into a pile ash in the forefront of my mind.

God. I feel like an idiot.

My cheeks burn, my arms feel heavy at my sides, my stomach turns over, and over, and over.

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