Page 58 of Anti-Player

“Brag much?” Mikel gives me a charming sideways grin. “You really think I'm predictable?”

“Totally.”

He watches me from his side of the yellow couch, his eyelashes drifting to create all manner of shade and shadow. “Then,” he hushes, “what will I do next?”

My mouth tingles. I dart a look from his ravenous stare to his tight mouth in anticipation. “You'll kiss me.”

“Will I?” he asks in a decadent whisper.

Both of us remain still. Two people in a stand-off, both trying to read the other. My confidence that he'll kiss me is growing, but with it comes a hot lick of excitement between my thighs, the memory of how his tongue feels when he eats me out. I squirm on the cushions—he sees it and smirks. “Maybe I don't want to be predictable,” he teases, inching forward, the couch moving with his weight. “Maybe I like keeping you on edge.”

“I know you do,” I say with a loud swallow.

“Mn.” He reaches out, two fingers brushing my chin, holding me in place as firmly as cement. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” I barely manage to say.

“You told me you thought I was a player.”

I tense uneasily at this because it conjures images of sitting with Juliet while she cruelly maimed Mikel, pretending she was helping me. “I feel bad about that,” I admit.

“I felt bad, too,” he says. His fingers brush my cheek, trace my ear. “I liked you from the start, Paige. And part of me wished I was a player because then I'd know how to win you over and make you mine. I had no clue what I was doing. In fact, when you fell in my lap, and I asked to kiss you? I was secretly horrified.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it was the kind of thing I was told by friends in college to never do. Ask a girl for permission?” He curls his lip in a scowl. “Those guys were obsessed with how to trick women into bed with them. I didn't want to become that, but I can't lie... I envied their knowledge. The number of times a girl has flirted with me, and I didn't realize until it was too late? Humiliating. Or I fumbled and walked off because the interaction stressed me out because it didn't feel like I'd done it perfectly? Paige, when I uttered that sentence with you in my lap, I thought I'd blown it.” Mikel strokes my temple and smiles fondly. “But you didn't care. I didn't need to beat myself up about anything, because thank fucking god, when I asked you for a kiss—”

“I did this,” I interrupt him so I can cling to him on the couch with my mouth capturing his. My teeth pull lightly at his bottom lip until he groans; his cock thickens between us, heavy and rigid and obvious. Reaching down I run my entire palm along the front of his soft joggers. The sound he makes is primal.

I'm sure he has a condom in his pocket, but when I go to reach for it, he stops me. I blink, searching to understand what he's thinking. Mikel looks nervous. “Let me,” he explains, curling his fingers in my hair. I can't see the condom when he tugs it out, but I hear him tear it.

Without looking he reaches between us, lowering his pants to his thighs, and I shove my tights down, too. His hard torso feels amazing on my pliant skin. When we grind, it's like someone is massaging me all over. Heat flutters in my pussy, and when my clit bumps his pelvis, I whimper.

“I love you,” he hisses in my ear. It echoes, sending me deeper into my growing desire. His condom-sheathed cock slides along my belly. I imagine it inside of me and start to groan louder. “Do you want me?” he asks, knowing god damn well the answer.

“Yes!” I growl, kissing his neck, his smirk.

“Put me inside of you,” he commands.

Squeezing the base of his shaft I aim him at my slippery entrance. My muscles are aching to hug his fat length. “Jesus,” I breathe out, feeding him into my pussy. He spreads his hands over my full ass, digging in.

“I love your ass,” he says in a rasp. Holding me, he pushes me down, making me squeal as he fills me up. “You're so fucking perfect, Paige. All of you, every bit from your toes to your clever mouth.” He kisses me with full tongue, swirling to run the tip on my teeth and over my taste-buds until I'm full of him in two different holes. My mouth, my pussy, he's everywhere.

I moan his name as we fuck—think of it until it's a mantra in my head. He listens to my breathing, sensing where I am on the path to orgasm. The fact he knows, that he wants and needs to make me come, is beyond erotic.

He ends the kiss, spanks my ass. “I feel how close you are,” he teases in my ear. “Now who's predictable, hm?”

I am, I think fuzzily. But I don't care. What a problem to have to be so easy to read by the man who lusts to make you come.

He licks a finger, runs it down my spine, my hip, then right over the rose-bud of my asshole. Wet heat explodes in my middle, spreading out like a wave. My pussy clamps down, milks his cock, and I come with my face buried in his shoulder and the lights from the city shining through his ocean-view window.

He's on my tail, unable to hold back. My orgasm sets off his. “Fuck!” he gasps, clutching me until it hurts. His prick swells, fills the condom, puts me close to coming a second time. Delirious from pleasure I ride him on the couch for untold strokes, enjoying the sensation of him inside of me even when we're not trying to reach completion. Coming is amazing... being connected is even better.

We stretch on the couch, limbs tangling, content to remain where we are. I'm not sure why he lifts my arm off of him so he can stand, but I lie there to enjoy the sight of his muscles rippling as he redresses himself. I think I'm obsessed with his ass as much as he is mine. Yum yum.

He rounds the couch, entering the kitchen, turning on the lights. I rub my eyes to adjust. “I wanted to show you what arrived today,” he says, motioning at me from the kitchen. There's a box in his hands.

“Is that the Secret Reader?” I ask, sitting up.

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