Page 17 of Play Maker

But she doesn’t. She presses in and tilts her chin up.

And when I kiss her this time, it’s slower. Deeper. Less frantic, more deliberate.

I walk her back toward the bed without breaking the kiss, until her knees catch the edge of the mattress, and she sinks onto it, breathless.

I stop her from lying back and drop to my knees. “Clothes need to go.” And they do.

She sits on the edge of the bed, legs slightly parted, one hand braced behind her, the other resting loosely on her thigh. Her chest rises and falls in slow, shallow breaths. She’s already shed her sweater and unclasping the white laced bra now, leaving her skin bare and glowing in the soft flicker of the fairy lights that drip from the rafters like starlight.

And I swear to God, I stop breathing.

I’ve seen beauty in a thousand forms. Posed. Artificial. Filtered to hell. I’ve had it curled up in my sheets, tucked under my arm, purring in my ear like they knew how to play the part. But this?

Lo isn’t playing. She’s soreal.

I follow the line of her collarbone with my eyes, down to her breasts, full and perfect, her nipple—just one—pierced with a gold barbell drawn tight from the chill, matching her nose ring. My cock hardens even further.

Her breath’s shaking—so is mine—sheer tension radiating off both of us like static on an old TV. She shifts slightly, and my eyes drop to the faint stretch of muscle along her abdomen, another piercing in her belly button. My eyes stall there, and her body twitches, reminding me I’mstillstaring.

I take her all in. Her skin is flushed, soft in places I want to memorize with my mouth. Her curves are soft, unapologetic—thighs strong, pale, and open in invitation. The slope of her waist rolling into hips that make my hands twitch with the need to squeeze them.

Her gaze catches mine and, for a second, everything stills. Because she’s looking atmenow. Not shy. Not uncertain. Like she wants to know how I’ll come undone. Like she’s waiting for it.

I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head slowly, watching her watch me.

Her eyes drag down my chest, over the scars she’ll never know the stories behind—I’ll never trust anyone with them again—the ink on my ribs, the lines that years of training carved into me. Her bottom lip slips between her teeth, and my pulse kicks like a boot to the face.

Her gaze climbs back to mine, hungrier now. Curious. Reckless want.

“Lie back for me,” I say, voice feeling and sounding like gravel. “I’m going to make you come before I fuck you.” I grip her knees and pull them apart to make room for me between them. Heat emanates from her. “Jesus, Lo, you’re on fire.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hand cupping her pussy, I rub my palm hard against her as I lean down and take her nipple in my mouth. “So hot.” I push my finger slowly through her lips. “Tight as hell. So wet.”

“Uh-huh,” she moans as I push deeper inside, taking care not to touch her clit—not yet.

“Your pussy and I are going to get acquainted.”

“Get … there,” she says through a shuddering breath.

“Your ass and I will, too, if you keep sassing like that,” I warn as I run my thumb around her clit.

“Okay, yeah. Oh, yeah, just like that.” Her thighs tighten around me. “Not my ass, though … ever.”

Two things learned. One, she doesn’t understand a threat; and two, Lo’s not an ass girl … not yet.

“And how about this?” I ask as I squeeze another finger inside of her.

She leans forward and grabs my shoulders, sinking her nails into them.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Don’t need instruction, Lo. I know how to make you come.”

“I … I?—”

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