Page 120 of Biggest Player
No doubt she can feel it straining against my jeans, hard and hot and ready.Always ready, damn him ...
Margot kisses me again, deeper this time, tongue teasing mine. My hands go to her hips, guiding her movements as she grinds against me, the friction making it hard to think straight. She’s dry fucking me, and I feel like a teenager.
I sit as still as I can, letting her be in charge.
She breaks the kiss and gazes down at me, lips swollen and red. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” My voice is husky. “I thought you liked a challenge.”
“I do,” she admits. “But I also like winning.”
“So do I.” And with that, I pick her up, flipping her so she’s on her back, pinning her beneath me on the couch. “Let’s see who comes out on top, then.”
Her laughter is cut off by my lips capturing hers again, our bodies pressing together in a deliciously intoxicating rhythm.
I grind my hips into hers.
She lifts her hips so they meet mine.
Fully clothed, we let our hands roam, exploring every inch of each other with a growing hunger. I can feel her responding, her nails digging into my shoulders as she arches into me, tugging at my shirt so she can touch my bare skin.
“Dex,” she moans, her voice a desperate plea. “Don’t stop.”
Don’t stop . . .
Don’t stop . . .
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Her wish is my command.
Her fingers tug at my shirt, and I help her pull it up and over my head. The cool air hitting my skin is a stark contrast to the heat in my kitchen.
Margot runs her hands over my chest, watching me with wonder, her touch igniting a fire that blazes through me.
“God, you’re perfect.” Her breath is another quiet murmur as her eyes roam my body appreciatively. “I’ve never touched anyone with an eight-pack.”
I don’t have an eight-pack but do not argue with her.
Tipping my head back, I give her a shaky laugh before leaning down to capture her lips, pouring all my pent-up desire for her into this kiss. All the frustration from lying to her, all the attraction I feel for someone I told myself I wasn’t going to date.
Yet here she is beneath me. Because I am a liar.
“You’re the one who’s perfect,” I murmur against her mouth, my hands finding the hem of her shirt.
I want to see her naked too.
With a quick tug, her shirt joins mine on the floor. I take a moment to admire her. The way her skin glows in the dim light. The curve of her breasts above the lace of her baby blue bra. Her smooth clavicle.
Margot’s breath is coming in short, ragged gasps.
The sight of her lying there in nothing but a bra and shorts is intoxicating.
Her soft palms travel from the middle of my chest down to my waistband, her touch sending sparks through my body when her nails scratch my skin.
“Let’s see what you’re keeping in here,” she teases, fingers pulling on the button of my fly.
I can barely nod my assent.
