Page 44 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
I want her taste—all of it.
Slow and deep at first, until she gives in. Until she loses herself in me.
And then?
I want to ruin her.
Leave her so wrecked, so fucking undone, that the only thing she’ll remember is my name.
That the only man she wants is me.
She leans in.
Just a little.
Just enough.
And that’s when I realize, she wants this just as much as I do.
She wants me.
I tilt my head, lowering just enough to taste her.
Close enough that all I’d have to do is shift slightly, and my mouth would brush against hers. And, fuck, I think she wants me to.
Her eyes flicker to my lips.
And then when I’m so close I can feel her breathing . . . she shoves me.
She fucking shoves me.
Not hard enough to move me, but enough to snap herself out of whatever moment we were about to have.
Which is a fucking shame, because I was more than ready to take what she was so clearly tempted to give.
But fine. If she wants to play like this, I can adapt.
I can pretend . . .
Well, I’m not sure what, exactly, but I’ll make sure I win this new challenge.
Because I will get her to beg me for a kiss.
Of course, I act casual, as if nothing was about to happen. Like my cock isn’t semi-hard because of her—because of the scent of her skin, warm and subtly sweet, like flowers and something deeper underneath. Something that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and stay there.
I grin, unfazed.
She glares.
Sarah barks from ahead, impatient with our bullshit.
Olivia steps back, shaking her head furiously, like she’s trying to physically erase whatever just happened.
“No.” She points at me, tone firm. “That didn’t happen.”
I chuckle, running a hand over my jaw. “What didn’t happen, Doc?”
Her nostrils flare.
