Page 59 of Behind the Net

A feeling surges in my blood, electric and determined. I’ve been competing in sports my entire life. I thrive on competition. It’s woven into my DNA at this point, and it’s the best way to motivate me.

Hearing that Zach couldn’t make Pippa come? It lights my blood on fire.

I’d make her come. I’d make her come so fucking hard.

My pulse beats in my ears, and in this moment, there’s no one here but me and her. I hold her gaze, swallowing with difficulty as I picture sliding my hands up her dress here in the dark restaurant, pressing the pads of my fingers over her damp panties. Maybe she’d grip my knee, maybe she’d bury her face in my shoulder while she shook on my lap, unraveling.

I need to make her come.

“It’s not too much information,” I manage, and my voice is hoarse. “Was it just with him?” I ask for some stupid fucking reason. “That you couldn’t get there?”

I like the pain, I guess. I like the torture of hearing about her struggles with orgasms, even though I can’t do a fucking thing about it.

She bites her lip and I follow the motion.Iwant to bite her lip.

Our eyes meet again. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with,” she admits.

I drag a deep breath in as competition roars in my veins.Me, my subconscious shouts.I’m the one who can change her mind.

She shifts on my lap, and I clench my jaw as she brushes against my cock again.

“Sometimes I’m successful, um, by myself.”

Even in the restaurant’s moody, dim lighting, I can see the flush across her cheeks. I wonder if they flush like that while she has her hand between her legs.

“Why are you blushing, songbird?” My voice is low.

“I’m not,” she says, breathless. She won’t look at me, but her pulse jumps in her neck.

The pretty songbird is thinking about something naughty, and I need to know what it is. One hand is still gripping her waist, but I lift my free hand and press the backs of my fingers against her cheek. Her lashes flutter.

“You’re burning up. You don’t have a fever, do you?” I arch a brow at her, teasing her.

“I don’t think so,” she whispers, eyes darting to mine.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes are wide.

Now I have to know. I turn her in my lap so she can’t avoid my gaze. “Tell me.”

She huffs, half-amused and half-annoyed. “Jamie.”

“Now.”

She groans. “Bossy. Okay, fine. Last week…”

“Go on.”

“This is embarrassing. Okay. Whatever. I usually have a tough time even on my own, but last week I was able to really quickly.” Her expression turns mortified. “Oh my god. Why am I telling you this?”

“You were just following orders,” I say, but my voice sounds far away because all I can think about is Pippa across the wall that separates our rooms, stroking herself. Gasping. Her toes curling as she comes.

Fuck. I’m so hard right now.

“Jesus,” she mutters as my cock pulses into her.

“Stop moving,” I grit out.

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