Page 224 of Make the Play

Trouble still has a name, only now he’s mine.

And if he doesn’t kiss me in the next three seconds, I’m going to climb him like a goddamn jungle gym.

We’re both soaked, dripping puddles on his hardwood floors, hearts still racing from the storm and everything we admitted to each other under a curtain of rain.

Chase looks at me as though he’s starving but is waiting for me to give the green light.

“If you take off that hoodie in slow motion, I will sue for emotional distress,” I mutter.

His mouth twitches. “I am literally a victim of a break-in.”

“Oh, please. I should’ve stolen more than the coat. I should’ve looted this place.”

“You did,” he says, stepping closer. “You looted my heart.”

“You’re disgusting.” I tug at the hem of his hoodie. “Take off your pants.”

He grins, slow and lethal. “Tell me you want me.”

I narrow my eyes. “I want to be offended that you need me to say it.”

“Say it anyway.”

I take one step closer, chest to chest, letting my hands drag up and over his shoulders.

“I want you.”

There’s a beat where he just stares at me with that frat boy grin that I love so fucking much on his stupid, beautiful face.

“Less cocky now?” I murmur.

“No,” he says, dropping his forehead to mine. “Now I’m just hard.”

I laugh, loud and breathless, and it gets swallowed in the kiss that follows. His hands are on my waist, sliding under my shirt to touch me, and I pull the soaked fabric over my head, throwing it somewhere behind me.

Chase’s eyes drop to my chest, and I swear I see his entire soul leave his body.

I smirk, even as my skin prickles under his gaze. “Still cocky?”

“No. Now I’m just in fucking awe.”

His hands move slowly, trailing over the curve of my waist, up to my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples that are already tight from the chill. Then he leans down and takes one into his mouth, and suddenly, the cold is gone. All I feel is heat.

I gasp, arching into him. “Chase—”

He groans softly, tongue flicking my piercing. “God, I missed the way you say my name when I’ve got my mouth on you.”

He kisses a line down my chest, dropping to his knees in front of me.

“You gonna be good for me?” he asks, looking up at me from the floor, voice thick with heat.

I hum, smug. “Only if you beg.”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, hooking his fingers in my underwear and dragging them down slowly. “I don’t need to beg. I get results.”

And then his mouth is on me.

My gasp punches out of my chest, knees buckling as I grab for the dresser behind me. His tongue is filthy and precise, slow at first, then firmer and more demanding. He moans against me, the sound low and rumbling and sofucking hungry.

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