Page 68 of Imperfect Player

I watch as he rolls it over his hard cock, excitement rising in me knowing that I did that—caused that. Little old me. Everly Mann.

He settles himself between my thighs, his cock teasing my entrance, but his eyes are steadfast on mine.

“Last chance, sunshine.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.”

Sure, but not ready. Not for the way he sinks into me. Slowly. Gently. The way he thinks I deserve. Not for the look in his eyes as he does. The intensity in them, the emotion.

Inch by inch he moves in deeper, groaning as he does.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

I remain silent, my gaze transfixed on his face. The stormy look in his eyes, the way his jaw hangs open in satisfaction.

When he pulls out, I feel the loss immediately. Of him, of the feelings—physical and emotional—that he’s stirring up inside me.

Then, without warning, he thrusts back in. This time less gentle and quicker. I whimper, loving the sting of it, in awe of how quickly my body is willing to adjust to him. It’s as though we fit, as though our bodies are meant to be together.

Out and in, quicker and harder. He repeats the process over and over until I’m teetering on the edge. Until I can’t do anything except grab his ass and press him to me. I need him in me, deep in me. No more in and out, just deeper thrusts.

He obliges, grinding against me, cursing my name under his breath. One hand holds my hip, the other is pressed against the mattress next to my head. I turn, my lips pressing against the inner part of his wrist.

“Oh fuck,” he cries out.

The weight of his body covers me, his lips find mine as he bucks into me with a reckless abandon that feels so fucking good that I orgasm again. And just when I think I’m spent, that I can’t take anymore, his body stills, his own orgasm hitting him in short, jerky movements that my body can’t get enough of. I tighten, I explode. I fall. I fall so damn hard.

Chapter 19

Ethan

Rolling over in bed, I smile at the woman lying next to me. A woman who took up residence in my mind the moment I laid eyes on her and hasn’t left since. I don’t want her to either. That’s the crazy, fucked-up part.

Last night, being with her felt like fucking heaven.

It’s more than that though. More than just the amazing sex we had. More than a few laughs. With Everly, it’s so much more.

No sooner had we finished, I excused myself and bolted for the bathroom. Hands gripping the counter, I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to get all the shit racing through my head under control. At least enough to be the man that she needs me to be, not the imperfect player that I am.

When I stepped back into the bedroom, Everly was still there. She was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles. She was wearing my shirt. The shirt I wore when we went to the batting cages.

I apologized for my behavior. She offered me a gentle smile and shrugged. Said it was no big deal, that everyone needs to catch their breath once in a while.

Fucking Everly.

Sweet, sexy, understanding.

It wasn’t until I met her that I truly gave a damn about anyone but myself—and maybe Baker. But her? I want to take care of her. I want to be everything to her. I want things that I’m still not quite sure I believe in or understand. Yet here they are. All the emotions keep stirring inside me front, center, and undeniable.

Despite all that, last night was a new beginning for us. At least, it was supposed to be. I had prepared this whole speech in my head. It was more of a plea, I suppose. Me, begging her to try this thing with me. To be patient with me as I fumble through it.

I never got to tell her anything that I wanted to because my cock took over, and then the emotions, and all I could do was fall asleep with her in my arms.

Now, I lie here waiting for her to get up so I can tell her all the shit that I need to before I chicken out.

I’m patient for a whole thirty seconds before I reach out and touch her, my fingers dancing over the soft skin on her stomach, then up her arm. I scoot closer, my arm draping over her, my head tucked into the curve of her neck.

She stirs, but she doesn’t wake.

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