Page 37 of The Playmaker

His chuckle curls around me. “Like that, do you?”

“Of course I like that.” I sink into my pillow as he licks and nips at my nipple until it’s rock hard. His hand finds my other breast and gently massages it. He pushes against me, and his arousal brushes my outer thigh. I slide my hand down and capture his long length, and his deep groan fills me with satisfaction.

I know better than to be doing this, and by rights I should put a stop to it right now. And I will, in just a minute.

He draws my nipple deeper into his mouth and runs his tongue around it.

“Cole,” I groan as my entire body lights up. “We need to stop,” I say, and move beneath him, my words contradicting my actions.

“I know,” he says around my nipple, and the vibration of his voice goes straight to my sex. When he finally breaks the contact, he grins and says, “It’s just that I never got to spend enough time with these last night.”

“Boob man, are you?”

“Only when it comes to you, Nina,” he says, and when I meet his gaze, I expect to see humor—but what I see instead surprises the hell right out of me.

How is it with one look he can make me feel so special? Believe me, I’ve seen the big-breasted women he goes out with. Mine certainly pale in comparison. Like I said, I have the body of a twelve-year-old boy.

“But mine are…”

“Are what?” he presses

“I’m just…small.”

He makes a sound, a snort of sorts. “Jesus, girl. Do you have any idea how perfect these are?” He cups my breasts, brushes his thumbs over my puckered nubs. “The way they fit my hands and mouth…Christ.” His lids fall slowly as he gives a slow shake of his head.

I stare at him. Is he messing with me or is he serious? I’m going with the former, considering he’s The Playmaker. I’ve seen the way he acts around the bunnies. A guy like him knows all the right things to do and say to get the results he wants—a woman in his bed.

Doesn’t matter. I’m in this for me, too. Some more excellent sex until hockey season is over and I have my plot.

He shifts beside me, and a flash of red on his nightstand catches my attention. I look past his broad shoulder, pitted and scarred from years of hockey, and what I see has my heart jumping into my throat.

My jaw drops open and heat crawls into my face as I sit up, moving a little away from Cole as I press my back against the headboard.

“What?” Cole asks.

My gaze goes from the nightstand to Cole back to the nightstand again. I shake my head and my hair tickles my breasts as it falls forward and brushes over my flesh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, never more mortified in my life. I grab the sheet and cover myself, but the point is moot. Cole has been inside my body. And from what I see on his nightstand, he’s also been in my…head.

He turns to see what I’m looking at, and then looks back at me. “Oh, yeah,” he says, his expression neutral, like he reads romance books all the time.

“Oh yeah? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” I question, my voice rising, getting far too close to hysteria. “You have every single book I’ve ever written on your nightstand, and all you have to say is, ‘oh yeah’?”

He angles his head and looks me over, his eyes—which I wouldn’t mind gouging out at the moment—full of confusion. “Why are you so upset?”

“Because…because…” I stumble as my mind races at what feels like a personal invasion. Did he buy them so he could make fun of me? I know how everyone laughs and makes fun of the romance industry. So help me God, if he says one derogatory word, or throws a sex scene in my face, I’m leaving and never coming back. Hockey series be damned. I don’t need to eat that badly.

“You already said everything is fiction,” he begins. “Sex isn’t that good, and no guy is that good, right?”

I glare at him as past hurts come back to haunt me. “You shouldn’t have bought them.”

“Why not?”

“They’re not for…” Oh, God, none of this is coming out right.

“Guys?”

“Right, they’re not for guys. Especially guys like you.”

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