Page 48 of Game Face

I laugh, and the sound is strong and loud, alerting the nurse just outside my room. She steps in to make sure I’m okay, butwhen her eyes meet mine and she sees Wyatt embracing me, she backs out of my door and closes it nearly completely.

“You know, there are other physical things I would really like to test out. And only you can help me,” I say, my overt come-on mincing no words.

Wyatt sinks back down beside me, his fingertips grazing along my collarbone, then down the center of my chest, along the soft cotton shirt I’ve basically lived in for the last two days.

“I’d really like to change,” I say.

His mouth tugs up on one side, and his dark lashes mask his eyes as his focus drops to my chest. His palm hovers between my ribs, his index finger drawing a soft line down to my navel before his fingers curl under the hem of my shirt.

“I can help with that,” he says in a soft voice, lifting his head to meet my eyes and level me with a devious smirk before shifting to press a soft kiss against my bare stomach.

“These are cute,” he remarks, teasing my skin along the band of the soft white cotton boxer shorts I’m now obsessed with.

“The incision is a little tender still. Besides, I kind of like them,” I say, wishing I had the muscle strength and ability to wriggle my hips and lure his hand lower.

“I kind of love them,” he says, moving back to the hem of my shirt. I suppose all touch is good at this point. My body is aching, and not from laps around the fucking nurses’ station.

Wyatt glances behind him, probably checking the door, then returns to my body, bringing my shirt up until my bare breasts are exposed, and his mouth covers one almost instantly.

“Do you feel that?” His tongue flicks against my left nipple, and I whimper.

“That’s a yes.” He chuckles. “How about this one?”

He moves to my right side, and while my hand and leg have been slow to cooperate with me, my tits seem to be completely on board with feeling everything.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter. I suck my bottom lip in hard as my eyes flicker toward the door.

“Should we test . . . other things?” His mouth covers my nipple again, suckling it as he looks up at me through his lashes.

“We definitely should,” I say, my voice full of want.

In my mind, I’m lifting my hips, and I very well may be the tiniest bit, but it would be impossible to tell. Wyatt’s soft breath tickles my hard nipple, driving me wild as his palm slides down my stomach and underneath the band of my boxers. His fingertips brush along the trail of hair above my pussy, then slip between my legs. I throb instantly at his touch.

“Oh . . . oh, yes,” I stutter.

I’m going to come, and I’m going to come soon.

“Wyatt,” I say, his name more of a plea than anything.

“Come for me, baby,” he says, kissing my nipple as his finger slides against my soaking wet skin.

My lips part, and I lay my left arm over my eyes, wishing I could arch my body into him. He dips a finger inside of me, then two, hooking them as he pushes deep into me, then slides back out, coating me in my arousal.

“Fuck, you feel good, Peyton. I can’t wait until it’s my cock in you again,” he says, his dirty talk making my pussy swell against his touch.

He flicks his tongue against my nipple again, then teases my clit before pushing two fingers back inside. The pattern continues, and it gets faster as my breathing grows out of control. I let out a tiny cry with every pass of his hand against me, my pussy soaking wet as I get closer and closer to the edge. I can feel the wave coming as my core tightens; I turn my head and lift my gaze just enough to catch Wyatt’s eyes.

“Please,” I beg.

He sinks his fingers in deep, pressing his thumb against my clit and circling it as his teeth pinch my left nipple intoa sweetly painful ache. My body wants to convulse, but every single bit of my orgasm is concentrated where Wyatt’s thumb is circling between my legs. It’s nearly torture taking every wave of pleasure that courses through me, and I have to bite my fist to keep from crying out loud.

By the time the last surge shatters me, it’s all I can do to open my eyes in the light of the room. I can barely breathe. And my smile will not leave my face.

Wyatt slips from the side of my bed and moves to the small suitcase my mom brought with extra clothes for me. He pulls out his favorite shirt—the one he gave me after our freshman year when he led the Wildcats to a conference championship. It has his name on the back, along with a whole lot of other football players, but it’s his I care about.

“Let me help you,” he says, supporting me as I sit up tall in the bed. I raise my arms one at a time, the right needing assistance from Wyatt as he slips one shirt from my body and replaces it with the new one.

When he nestles back into the bed beside me, I bend my left leg, nudging his thigh as my left palm teases his side. He takes it in his hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss on my wrist before meeting my gaze and shaking his head.

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