Page 143 of Make the Play

Chase’s arm is slung heavy over my waist, chest pressed flush against my back, his breath warm and steady against my neck.

I swallow hard, my pulse doing something stupid. I’m not usually the girl who wakes up and nuzzles closer, but I do. I’mnot the kind of girl who lets herself bask in how good it feels, but I fucking do. I let myself feel it all, memorizing the shape of him. I allow myself to sink into the feeling as his arm pulls me tighter. The heat, the weight, the way he fits around me like he was made to be there.

I hold my breath, then slide out just far enough to untangle his arm and carefully inch toward the edge of the bed.

“Where you goin’, Zo?”

I freeze and clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay even. “Bathroom.”

He hums, the sound vibrating against me, lazy and knowing. “Bathroom’s the other way.”

I swallow. “I—Yeah, I know that.”

“Why do I feel like you're about to bolt?”

I refuse to react. I refuse to acknowledge the way my pulse skitters, or how the way he says it makes me feel so ridiculously seen.

Instead, I suck in a breath and grab my T-shirt off the ground. I don’t look at him. Don’t acknowledge the fact that I’m so naked, I can still feel him all over me.

“Leave it.”

I go still, my grip tightening around the fabric. “Excuse me?”

I hear the sheets shift, and I hear the deep, satisfied noise he makes as he stretches his limbs.

“I said leave it.”

He’s propped on one elbow when I turn, still lazy, still naked, watching me like a man with all the time in the world.

His gaze drags down my body, slow and unhurried, memorizing every inch of me. And when his eyes find mine again, they burn.

“You won’t need it,” he says simply.

A shiver rolls through me.

“I’m gonna get dressed,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady.

He tilts his head. “Are you?”

I glare. “Yes.”

He smirks.

“Get back in bed, Zo.”

Fuck.

I stand there, my T-shirt clutched to my chest, torn between every shred of common sense I have left and the pure, undeniable fact that every single inch of me wants him again.

He sees it, of course he does. And he waits. Patient, amused. Sure as hell.

My fingers tighten around the fabric as I let out a shaky breath. This is a bad idea. A terrible, terrible idea. But I drop the T-shirt to the floor, and his grin turns predatory.

“That’s my girl.”

Chapter twenty-seven

You named your dildo after a luxury fashion house

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