Page 69 of Game Changer

It’s so good. So much more than I imagined it could be.

My chest aches to fill with new air, my lungs burning with the want for him, for even more than just this.

The light splinters through the water, dancing on his tattoos, on the ink that envelopes him like a second skin and proves that he is everything I thought he was: hard and soft, dominant and gentle, powerful and vulnerable, beautiful and real…

He lets me break the surface.

“We better get out of here,” he says as he pants, “or I’m going to do something very inappropriate.”

I grin, and his eyes crinkle, too.

We get out and dry off, and it’s as if he’s lightened up since we took that swim.

“Robin said we could see one of the new cabins before we go.”

He’s up to something. “Okay.”

I barely have time to slip on my sandals before he grabs my hand and tugs me to one of the little log outbuildings.

I pause in the cabin doorway. The modest room is equipped to sleep four, with two dressers and a full-length mirror. I cross to the bunk beds. “I loved these things as a kid.”

These ones are a heavy wood, and fragrant. Oak maybe.

I climb up the ladder and drop onto the mattress, which is bare except for a fitted sheet.

Clay closes the door behind him, then pulls himself up next to me.

I gasp as the frame creaks from our combined weight. “We’re going to break these.”

“I’ll replace ‘em.” He shifts over me, his huge body blocking out most of the light from the square window opposite.

My shirt slides up my stomach, and he lifts a tiny stone from my belly button. “Souvenir.”

I laugh. “Trust me, I’m remembering today.”

I loved watching him with those kids.

“You’re a good teacher when you’re patient,” I add.

Clay’s brows pull together. “You’re saying I’m not normally.”

I squint at him. “Not so much.”

His lips curve up, and every time they do, I’m pulled in a little more by him.

I love seeing him like this. Playful and sexy. It’s out of character, and I could happily pass out under the attention of those eyes, that smile.

He brushes my stomach with his thumb, a slow stroke that lights up every part of me. I suck in a breath and arch my back.

“You like pushing my buttons, Pink,” he remarks, his eyes glinting with humor. “I’ll push back.”

The nickname makes me flush even before his fingertips trail along the side of my ribs and up to my shoulder.

Heat pools between my thighs, and the sensation of being touched in all the right places takes over.

“Is that what that was back there?” I nod toward the lake. “Pushing back?”

His fingers thread into my damp hair, twisting and reminding me how his mouth felt on mine.

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