Page 33 of Filthy Player

“Hey,” he said, once he had me settled facing him.

“Hey, you.” I set down my glass of wine before I dropped it. Our faces were inches apart and I was sitting on his lap. Straddling him. His knees were bracing my back behind me. I was cocooned in all things Beaux.

I was falling for him. His honesty, his looks, his sincerity. Everything about this guy screamed too good to be true but I didn’t care.

If I was going to crash and burn, I wanted to enjoy the fall.

I slid my hands into his hair and clasped my hands together at the back of his neck. “Since we’re confessing things here, I have to say that I think your ass looks really good in your uniform, I’ve always wanted to run my hands through your hair when it’s sweaty after a game, and I’m a really big fan of yours, Beaux Hale.”

“Yeah?” His shoulders shook with laughter and his head tipped to the side. His hands at my hips slid down to my backside and he squeezed. “I think your ass is pretty fantastic too. Why didn’t you tell me you were a fan?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t want it to go to your head.”

Speaking of, one of his heads was becoming more pronounced the longer I sat on him. I’d felt it immediately, but the longer we were connected, the harder he became. I dug my fingers into the back of his neck to keep from rocking against him.

Good Lord, this guy was impressive. It’d been so long since I’d had sex, good sex at least, the kind that left your hips sore and you remembering every moment for days with a little secretive grin on your lips even strangers knew you’d been laid recently. I’d forgotten how good all of this felt.

The temptation. Desire. The anticipation of that moment when everything clicked together, when you connected with another person.

My pulse thundered and as we laughed, grinning like fools, I couldn’t wait anymore.

I had to have him.

“Beaux,” I whispered, my voice gone needy and thick.

“I confess I really want to kiss you,” he rumbled, shoving his face into my throat, “and I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”

“Then don’t. I’m with you, one hundred percent.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

PAIGE

“Fuck, Paige,” he groaned.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I wasn’t someone who threw themselves at men. I certainly didn’t straddle their laps in a park, but Beaux was different.

He was playful and sweet, and around him, it appeared my inhibitions took a flying leap into the pond.

He pressed his lips against the side of my throat and my body lit with anticipation. His full, warm lips against me, the slightest hint of stubble scraped my sensitive flesh as he moved higher until our mouths were inches from each other.

He gazed at me like he was trying to pry into my soul and my eyes fluttered close, unable to handle the inspection.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in.

A shiver wracked my spine and I clung to him, fingertips pressing to the back of his neck, and into his hair right before he moved in, lips sealing us together.

A fire ignited deep inside my stomach.

He slid his tongue against my lips, seeking entrance and I allowed it, parting for him and as I tasted him, the mix of man and sweet white wine, I was gone.

I was swimming in the ocean, free falling, skydiving without a tandem partner. Beaux’s kisses sent me swirling into the eye of a hurricane and I couldn’t care what happened once I landed. Everything inside my body soared to life, heated, cooled. I held him against me, my hands in his hair, his shoulders.

I clung to his biceps like I’d fall without him but he held me just as tightly. Our mouths fused together, tasted each other, and I reveled in the moment until I was shamelessly moving against him. The friction of our denim, the pressure of his hands on me, guiding me and helping me, shot delicious sparks up my spine, and I groaned into his mouth.

“So good,” I whimpered, my breathing erratic, my chest tight like it could explode.

I was lost in his pleasure. The only sounds I could now hear were my needy little whimpers and his harsh breathing.

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