Page 47 of Wicked Player

And for some reason, the man seemed to hate my guts.

* * *

My legs were still wobblingas I entered my apartment. How I managed to drive back home without swerving into a ditch was still a surprise.

How? How could that man be the same guy who spanked me and plugged me and did all the delicious things I loved and did them so exquisitely I knew I’d never find another guy who was so perfect for me?

At least sexually. Personality wise we definitely seemed to be on different wavelengths.

I locked the door behind me, kicked off my sandals, and dropped my purse on the entryway table.

“Shit,” I groaned. My hands went to the back of my neck and I rubbed away the tension that had popped and flared as soon as Gage burst into that small hospital room.

They really needed to make those things bigger.

It was my day off work, and I’d planned a relaxing day. Go see Brandon, stop by the gym and then to go get my nails done. On the way home, I’d swing by the grocery store, come home and soak in a nice long bubble bath with a glass of red wine and a good book to finish out the carefree day.

Now all those plans were shot to shit. I wasn’t relaxed and carefree. I was wound tighter than a stripper upside down on a stripper pole. My legs ached for no reason. My shoulders curled forward the muscles were so tense. My cupboards were bare and my wine was non-existent. And it was all because of stupid Gage Bryant and his glares and gravelly voice.

Goddamn it. How could it be him? I hadn’t been mistaken, but it explained so much.

How he knew about Velvet in the first place. Why he’d looked so pissed at me at that news conference. Why he couldn’t wait to get away from me afterward.

He’d screwed up my day. He’d screwed up my trip to Velvet. How could I see him again and take the blindfold and act like I didn’t know it was him?

Unless…he wanted me to know.

Maybe it was driving him crazy I hadn’t recognized him immediately.

“Yeah right.” I snorted. “Gage doesn’t seem like the guy with an easily wounded ego.”

I flipped on the water to the shower and while it warmed, I wrapped my hair into a messy bun with a scrunchie. Screw the workout. A hot shower wouldn’t clear my head, but at least I’d feel clean.

Afterward, I’d go to the store, stock up on the necessities: cheese and wine. And later, I’d gorge on a season ofOutlanderorGame of Thrones. Anything epic to take my mind off of Gage Bryant.

Easier said than done.

As soon as I stepped into the shower, and the hot water pounded against my shoulders, my back, I was assaulted with memories of him.

The way he smiled at Brandon. His story behind the reason for the center. He wasn’t some damn entitled superstar doing this out of obligation. He was doing it because he wished he’d had it when he needed it. He was doing it to make a difference because it would have made a difference to him.

As my mind conjured dozens of reasons to stay away from him, my wandering, traitorous hands discovered a mind of their own.

That stupid, growly voice in my ear. The scrape of his now shaven scruff along my inner thighs. The force of his fingers against my forbidden areas.

“Damn it.” My face flushed. My body warmed from nothing to do with the water.

The tops of my thighs pulsed as every memory of the two of us together in two, long but intense encounters swirled through my mind.

I couldn’t stop the arousal that blossomed deep within me.

None of his growls and glares and scowls and clipped words and impatience did a darn thing to dull the ache at the tops of my thighs.

I brushed my thumb over my nipple and shivered. They were already hard and sensitive. Aching for attention. I pinched one, ran my other hand down my stomach. Everything was lit with need. Every aching inch of my flesh was ready for him.

But would I ever see him again?

“Doesn’t matter,” I whispered to the shower wall. I didn’t need Gage Bryant or his commands or his punishments for not listening. The memories I had of him would forever be enough to take care of me.

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