Page 5 of Full Tilt
With dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, all five feet eight of her crawls around in my brain, taking up space she doesn’t deserve. In the past six years, no one has gotten to me like she does—and especially not someone I’ve only spoken to a handful of times.
No woman has ever turned down an advance from me, but Jenna Miller did. I swear to God she only said no because her pretentious girlfriends—whose husbands happen to be my teammates—hate my guts.
The New York Storm soccer team barely registers on the sports radar, and their goalie should’ve been honored—no,begging—to have the Blades best defenseman show her even an ounce of interest. Instead, she blew the only chance she’d ever get with me.
“You look like something—or someone—might be getting to you.”
I come to, completely forgetting my surroundings and who’s standing in front of me as I let Jenna fucking Miller and her perfect face invade my mind once again.
On a headshake, I reach into my pocket and toss a couple of hundred-dollar bills onto the counter. “Nah, just working out how much tip your work deserves. Two hundred should do it, right?”
His eyes grow wide as he blurts out, “Y-yeah, that works for me.”
I slide them toward him and lean in a little closer. “I lied earlier, about the tattoo. It does have meaning.”
He takes the cash and pockets it quickly, keeping his eyes on mine, waiting for me to elaborate.
“King cobras are generally acknowledged to be the smartest of their species. They are apex hunters, meaning they can adapt to their surroundings and prey. They’re always one step ahead of their next victim, planning their next move. They rarely make the same mistake twice.” I tap my knuckle on the counter. “That’s what makes a superior predator. Once bitten, twice shy.”
CHAPTER TWO
JENNA
“Is that good for you, baby?”
It would be if he was actually massaging my clit and not my pubic bone.
“Yes,” I reply in my best faux moan, one I’ve perfected over the past few months. Initially, I would be honest because I’m nothing if not truthful, but I quickly learned that telling a guy he hadn’t made me come was more trouble than it was worth.
I can’t deal with the barrage of responses like: “What’s wrong with you? I’ve never had a girl struggle to climax with me before.” And, “Why don’t you relax? You’re so uptight.”
Yes, Casanova, it has to be all my fault, doesn’t it? It couldn’t possibly be the fact that you’re rubbing a numb area, and now I only feel sore from the way you’ve prodded at me for the past hour rather than turned on.
“Come for me, Jenna,” he—the guy hovering above me, whose name I can’t remember—rasps into my ear as he slowly pumps in and out of me, his fingers still way off the mark.
How can my labia even remotely resemble a clit?
“Are you close?”
Since I’ve given up on talking and subtly helping him with a lesson in female anatomy, I nod my head once and pray he finishes soon.
“I’m not coming until you do, Jenna.”
Well, shit, now thisreally isawkward. Nameless Guy knows my name and wants to look after my needs in bed. There’s no way I’m going to climax. Not genuinely anyway.
On the next stroke of his dick, I release a whimper that sounds borderline passable as an orgasm and then another when he slides into me again.
Lord above, please let this be over soon. I promise not to sleep with another guy ever again.
I’ll become a nun and be a well-behaved girl for the rest of my life.
“I’m gonna come. I’m right there.”
Thank Christ for small mercies.
“Do it,” I tell him, gritting out the words and trying to sound as into this as he is.
The attraction I felt for this guy a few hours ago when I agreed to head back to his place might’ve all but dissipated, but I’m not a complete hard-nosed bitch. He clearly wanted to look after me tonight, and that’s one up from the guys I usually get with.
