Page 106 of Coach
I kept my head down, my forehead resting against Mateo’s shoulder, too cowardly to look at him. He hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t stiffened. In fact, he felt at ease, still rubbing slow, lazy circles into the small of my back, humming something low and satisfied.
But . . . what was he thinking?
Did he hate it?
Was he freaked out?
Would he think I’d just proposed on some primal mating ritual level?
God, I should say something.
Or maybe not.
Maybe if I stayed very still and silent, we could just . . . pretend it never happened.
Except it did. The spent condom crumpled on a years-old edition of some magazine on my coffee table offered more than enough evidence.
And now those words—words growled in the heat of pleasure, while my cock pulsed inside this man, clouding all thought or judgement or good sense—echoed in my head like they were carved in stone.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe, hoping like hell that Mateo wasn’t lying there wondering when I’d lost my damn mind.
“You’re talky during sex,” Mateo crooned, a smile threading his words.
I wanted to shrivel up and die. Instead, I grunted, like a feral idiot.
His chuckle reverberated through my chest.
“I guess I should get cleaned up and let you get some sleep. You’re still working on that big project, right?”
The project. Shit. I was so close to finished; and yet, every day—every piece completed—the client called and asked for another, pushing my timeline back another day or week, depending on the new request. It was good for business. This wasa well-funded, quick-paying client. Still, the work consumed my life just as I might want to find time for other pursuits.
Other pursuits? Who talks like that? And why would—
“You’re thinking.” Mateo’s hand, the one not teasing my back, reached up and traced down my cheek. “It worries me when you think.”
A tiny laugh slipped out. I couldn’t stop it.
Mateo’s grin warmed, causing my chest to do the same.
Damn him and his fucking accent.
“Sorry,” was all I could think to say.
His palm pressed against the side of my face. “Shower?”
“Uh, yeah, right,” I stammered, pressing myself up by pressing fists into the couch on either side of him. Before I could push off, he gripped me, his eyes roaming from my face to my chest, then lower.
“What?” I asked.
“Just looking,” he said, his smile twisting. “Your body is ridiculous.”
I knew I had a good body, was packed with muscle atop muscle. It had been a point of pride since my high school days. Still, hearing him say it, hearing the awe—or whatever it was—filling his voice? That sent a thrill of pride through me unlike any I’dknown before.
“Thanks,” I said.
He chuckled. “Now, get off me so we can clean up, you big brute.”
I pushed off, then reached a hand down to help him up. He stared at it for only a heartbeat, another smile tugging at his lips, before taking it and letting me haul him upright.
