Page 30 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Did you like that, Darling?” I whisper and grin when she becomes flushed all over again.

With a quiet huff, she narrows her eyes back at me before she mutters, “I did… so come up here and get your reward.”

God, I love a good reward.

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m up and pressed against the counter between her spread legs.

Kissing her this time around is effortless, the two of us lost in the sensational connection it ignites. I want her to taste herself on my lips and grasp once again why I’m so addicted to her.

The way she deepens the kiss and dares to plunge her tongue into my mouth when I least expect it only proves she definitely likes it.

“I have to return the favor,” she whispers when we break the kiss to catch our breaths. I feel winded—dizzy even—but I won’t admit it.

Instead, I use the counter between her legs to rest on as I lean over until our foreheads press together. Like years ago, we brush our noses together, and it’s so easy to fall into an embrace while we come down from our unique highs.

I’m still hard as hell, but I got a different sense of gratification from that sensual moment.

I pray to the heavens we get to enjoy that again.

“Wyatt?” I sense the hint of worry in her voice when I’m still hugging her.

The dizziness almost subsides, but I don’t want her to know about my dizzy spells. They’re one of the reasons why I stopped playing professionally.

Among other hindrances.

It’s not like I can’t treat vertigo, but I’m too fucking stubborn to acknowledge this to be a problem that hinders my quality of life.

Instead of answering, I lift my head just enough to press my lips lightly against hers.

“I don’t know if you hate me,” I begin, my voice barely hitting the surface. “But… whether you do or you don’t, please tell me I can still be around you from time to time?”

That we don’t have to act like complete strangers when we’re nothing close to that.

“I never hated you, dummy,” she whispers and kisses me as if to confirm her words. “And no one ever said you couldn’t be near me.”

“Why did we even drift apart?” I ponder more to myself than her. I rest my forehead against her left shoulder. “I really regret that.”

She doesn’t say anything, and I don’t expect her to.

Instead, I feel her hands on my waist, working at unbuckling my belt.

“Because we’re like black and white,” she admits, and I sense a saddened sense of happiness in her voice, as if she’s smiling at the truth of her words. “It felt like you were on the top of a mountain I knew I’d never be able to climb.”

I wish I could rid her of those feelings. Reminder her how similar we are in so many ways. Emphasize that our status in this life meant nothing.

Can’t she understand that it doesn’t matter if I’m rich or she’s poor? That I love her just the way she is?

“Mackenzie,” I whisper her name against her shoulder. Kissing her flesh sends a shiver through her, while those naughty fingers are already working on unbuttoning my pants.

Just as she gets the little brass button to pop out of place, the vibration of her phone makes us both freeze.

I know that ringtone.

THE AUNT FROM THE DEPTHS OF HELL

~WYATT~

Neither of us says a word as the phone keeps buzzing away until we’re greeted with silence once more.

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