Page 17 of Anti-Player

I start to become hyper-aware of my voice. Am I speaking too loud? Too fast? “Hey,” I finally say, pushing out of the chair. “I'm going to grab some water from the fridge. Do you want—ah!” I gasp, and if I worried before about how I sounded, it was pointless because my shout of surprise is akin to a seal falling over a cliff.

My feet have gone numb under me in the computer chair. It's too late to realize and stop myself from spilling forward, off balance, directly into Mikel's arms. He clutches me with a small grunt. To keep us from falling backwards off the stool he has to spread his legs, bracing himself to my floor. I end up right between his thighs. His muscles are firm as rocks.

The tension in his body is immense... but it's nothing compared to mine.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit! Not the best inner chant, yet it's all I'm capable of. I taste my heart's vibrations on my tongue, the rapid pulsing getting worse as I stare at the maroon cloth my cheek is buried on. His shirt, I think, the hard buttons rubbing my skin. Oh god what do I do? Jump away? Apologize? Stay clinging to his warm bodyohwhythefuckdoeshehavetosmellsogood—

“Are you okay?” he asks urgently.

I flutter my eyes to bring myself back to the present. “Um,” I say stupidly. Then, “My feet fell asleep.”

“Ah,” he chortles in my ear, “I thought you jumped into my arms because you couldn't resist me any longer.”

My muscles and joints stiffen. Leaning away to create enough space to look at his face, I notice the intoxicating light in his blue eyes. The corner of his delicious mouth warns me how good his lips will feel if I press mine to them. “Sorry,” I whisper.

“Don't be,” he whispers back.

Kneeling between his thighs on my floor, I let myself indulge in how secure it feels to be in his embrace. His legs are a cage on either side of my ribs, his large hands wrapping around my back, stabilizing me. I'm not going anywhere. Why do I feel like I'm still falling?

He sees me staring at his mouth. I see him look at mine, then back to my eyes. Mikel's pupils are swallowing me whole, his humor erased by something else. Something perversely hungry. “Paige,” he says hoarsely. “You should know something.”

“What?” ask weakly.

“I want to kiss you. Terribly, monstrously, more than anything I've ever wanted before, and I don't think I can stop myself. Is it okay if I do it?”

Heat flushes through my cells. I part my mouth the way you would to whistle. No sound comes out, the silence stretching, forming into an answer more clear than any I could voice.

Pressing my palms onto his knees, I push upwards and kiss Mikel. The tingles in my lips are sharper than the pins and needles in my still-waking feet. Like all the blood has left my body and is returning in one massive explosion.

I don't remember the last time I kissed someone.

But I know this is better than any kiss I've experienced before. A kiss so damn amazing it wipes out all memory of men who dared to exist before Mikel Hause.

His lips are soft as satin, his grip on my shoulder-blades clutching harder, until our chests come together and no gap remains. Not even air molecules can slip between us. He tastes like coffee. Like fire and magic and a hundred things I can't name. And when he runs his tongue expertly over mine I taste a hundred more.

“Paige,” he murmurs on my mouth. His lips shape each vowel, sending thrills to my core. “I want to see your bedroom now.”

Dazed, I let him help me to my feet. I stumble, he steadies me. I swear I'm watching myself from afar. A person disconnected from reality because it's too insane to believe. But I don't want to be a ghost, I want to be a willing part of this experience.

Is it stupid? Probably.

Mental? Definitely.

But if I'm going to do it, I'm going to make an active choice. That's how I've always lived my life and I'm not changing now. “This way,” I say, grabbing his wrist. He freezes, then lets hot air whistle from his tightly pressed teeth. His eagerness... his renewed interest... makes my pussy throb.

The distance to my bedroom is only ten feet. Each step creates a burst of excitement in me, my skin hot, my thighs rubbing together. I lead Mikel through the door and only then do I consider that my room is a mess.

“Sorry—” I begin to explain.

Grabbing my cheeks, he kisses me hard, shutting me up. He doesn't care that my sheets are rumpled, my blanket half on the floor where it's surrounded by discarded pajamas and socks. Mikel doesn't think about the empty bottles of water collecting on the windowsill that I keep meaning to recycle.

He wants me. Everything else is secondary.

I yank him towards my mattress, but he holds firm, kissing me with slow presses of his lips along mine. He gets softer and softer until my mouth is a buttery mess. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks thickly.

“No,” I reply, giving it no debate. Fumbling with the buttons on his shirt I begin pulling them free. He weaves his fingers through my hair as he lets me undress him. Mikel fists my thick strands at the base of my neck, undoing my up-do, forcing me to kiss him again. It doesn't slow me down; I pull his shirt sleeves along his arms and the clothing falls to my floor.

His heavy breathing fills the room. “My turn,” he says flatly. He hooks his fingers under the hem of my dress, gliding it high. He stops to stare straight at my black panties. “Christ,” he growls. “Do you know how hard it was to focus earlier with you sitting in your chair, the sweet gap of your thighs right in front of me?”

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