Page 39 of Not Just a Trick Play

My heart feels like it’s going to burst through my ribs, my body shaking as the final waves of my orgasm roll through me, leaving me wrung out. Spent.

My shaky breaths gradually slow, falling into rhythm with hers. I linger, careful not to crush her, as I watch her for a few moments more, until reality intrudes, extracting me from the haze of post-orgasmic bliss. The condom. A soft groan rumbles out of me as I slide out of her warmth, the absence already making me ache.

There’s a plastic-lined garbage can under the night table. With a sigh, I roll over, the simple act an enormous effort, and take care of it before collapsing back onto the mattress. My limbs are heavy, as though all the energy has been drained from me. Beside me, Amelia lies sprawled out and equally boneless, her skin glowing in the dim light.

I can’t resist. I turn and inch closer, pressing my body against hers, slipping an arm around her waist. My face finds its way into the crook of her neck as I breathe in her scent—soft and warm, with a hint of sweetness that still lingers. Every thought in my mind is sluggish, foggy.

Somewhere in the back of my head, there’s some notion that it’s time to get up, to leave, but the idea seems impossible right now. I just want to stay here. Just a few more minutes. Five more…

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AMELIA

Shrill ringingcuts through my dreams of rats playing football. The hotel phone. With a groan, I attempt to smother the intrusive racket by burying my head beneath a pillow. The device mercifully falls silent, only to renew its screeching serenade moments later.

Groggily, I reach out, snagging the receiver. “Hello?”

“I’m downstairs, and you’re not answering your cell, and I’m aging over here,” a familiar female voice says, and my heartbeat stalls before ratcheting up.Yvonne.

As my brain struggles to process this waking nightmare, the rustling of sheets from my side signals another development. “Sweets, come back to?—”

I slam a hand over the mouth of the man sprawled next to me. There’s a sudden pause on the other end of the line.

“You’re not alone!” Oh. My. Eardrums.

“What?” A croak of the highly unsexy variety escapes me as Jake’s lids snap open and crash into mine, alarm clear in his gaze. A second later, he jerks up, the sheet sliding down to his hips.

“Yvonne?” he mouths. I nod, even as I drink in the sight of all that exposed skin, tracing the deep grooves of his definedabs, then gliding over the chiseled planes of his sculpted chest, finally landing on the little half-moons high on his shoulders.

Souvenirs I’d marked him with. I’m momentarily stunned, staring at the nail marks, my fingers tingling with the phantom memory of clutching him as he drove into me.

Mortification mixes with a strange surge of pride, like I’m some sort of primal queen marking her territory. Not that I’m royalty. Or have any grounds for possessiveness. But now is not the time to dwell on that contradiction. There’s a more urgent situation at hand.

“No. No. No one’s here. I had the telly on,” I babble. “Give me a few minutes to get ready, and I’ll be right there. Just…wait.”

Hanging up, I leap from the bed, unwittingly drawing the sheet up and exposing Jake. He slides out on the other side. Our eyes lock across the mattress. My breath hitches at all that glorious tanned nakedness. After a moment of paralysis, I seize a pillow and hurl it at him. The cheeky bugger lets it tumble to the floor. Isn’t he trained to catch and throw balls?

My brain isn’t quite ready to tackle the aftermath of the wee hours. What’s the etiquette here? Isn’t the visiting party supposed to make a discreet exit before dawn? Isn’t it a bit forward to cuddle up and stay?

I eye him some more. Shouldn’t there be some urgency to leave? Why is this even my problem? The phone rings again. No, I do not have the bandwidth for this.

I rush to the loo, dragging the sheet along for a shred of modesty, and ditch it to squeeze some toothpaste onto my brush.

Diving into the shower, I yank the curtain closed. I fire up the toothbrush and turn on the water, their combined cacophony drowning out the screaming in my head. I lather upwith one hand, cleaning my teeth with the other. Efficiency at its finest, right?

“Hey.”

That single word launches the toothbrush down my throat—or so it feels.

I morph into a gagging and gasping mess of coughs and toothpaste. The curtain flies back, revealing a wide-eyed Jake.

Did I not lock the door?

Is he about to join me?

That would be another first.

Then, reality hits—he isn’t here to jump in, he’s more worried that I’m choking. Though really, if I were to expire here, either by dental care or mortification, it would be because he didn’t do me the courtesy of sneaking out like any respectful one-night stand.

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