Page 73 of Scrum Heat

“Good,” I say. “I like knowing you’re watching.”

She opens her mouth—maybe to sass me, maybe to tell me to fuck off—but then I do the most dangerous thing I could possibly do.

I touch her.

Just a hand on her hip—just for a second.

Testing. Teasing.

Her breath hitches, and her scentspikes—sweet and sharp and heady as hell, and it hits me square in the chest.

“Careful,” I grin. “You’re making itreallyhard to pretend I’m being professional.”

“You’re not pretending,” she mutters.

“What?Me? Not even a little?”

She glances away. “I’m getting the mic.”

“You do that,” I say, stepping aside. I don’t move far enough, though, and when she brushes past me, our shoulders collide—

Skin on skin. Heat against heat.

She sucks in a breath, but still doesn’t acknowledge it.

She makes it to the cabinet. I stay exactly where I am, watching as she bends at the waist to open it.

“Careful, sweetheart. Keep looking at me like that, and I might think you actuallywantme.”

She whirls. “You are—”

I can’t help but laugh as she crosses the room, flushed with fire in her cheeks and her breath picking up. My laughter wobbles slightly when her hand reaches forward, and then, faster than I can blink,she grabs the front of my towel and hauls me forward by two inches.

That’s all it takes.

She rises up onto her tiptoes so that her mouth can crash right into mine, and my brain short-circuits.

Frankie’s hands fist in the edge of my towel as mine come up to frame her face. She presses closer, and I growl into her mouth.

The kiss is messy and fast and filthy in the way only two people who have been flirting for weeks can manage. She gasps against my lips. I bite her bottom one.

And then she pushes me back against the lockers with athud.

“Still winning?” she pants.

“Absolutely,” I smirk. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t.

The second her mouth touches mine again, everything else drops out. There’s no room for thought, no hesitation, no self-control left to pretend with.

Because this?

This is a green light.

This is an omega kissing her alpha—and I don’t doslow.

I grip her hips and spin us round, pinning her against the locker so hard the metal groans. My mouth devours her gasp, my tongue slick against hers, hands already moving—palming her waist, dragging up the back of her shirt to get at her bare skin.

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