Page 73 of Biggest Player
Should I, you know, put my hand under it?
Regardless of our relationship status, what better way to springboard to the next level than with a little foreplay.
Am I right or am I right?
Talk is cheap; fooling around is forever.
I yawn.
Reach across the back of her seat, stretching as if I were exhausted, and yawn again—the way they do it in the movies. Lay my hand on the back of her chair, touching her hair before letting my hand slide to her shoulders,real cool and nonchalant like.
She looks over at me, brows raised. “Wow. That’s your move?”
Yes, that is my move. Not the best move, but a move nonetheless ...
“Why do you have to call me out like this?” I laugh. “Pretend we’re on a date.”
Definitely don’t feel as smooth as I thought I was.
“A date?” She shivers. “If you say so.”
Every time Margot laughs at a clever line from the characters on screen—or pretends to fan herself at the sight of the hunky male lead, with his handsome face and his great hair—I feel a flutter of excitement.
She’s so fucking cute. I can’t wait to get my hands on her ...
I want to kiss her again.
That short-lived and interrupted kiss in her kitchen was too quick to register in my brain as memorable, and I wouldn’t mind trying it again to see if sparks fly this time. It’s been fucking with my mind ever since.
She shifts in her big red leather chair, the warmth of her leg pressing against mine. Impossible to ignore.
I’m not into this movie.
Barely paying attention, which we all knew was going to happen, too busy am I as I contemplate how best to make my next move.
With deliberate slowness, I slide my hand under the blanket, feeling the soft fabric of her leggings glide against the tips of my fingers and palm. Brush them over her knee, letting it rest there.
Her mouth curves into a smile.
I lean over, kissing her neck. Jawline. The spot below her ear.
“Are you trying to kiss me?”
“Do you want me to?”
She nods, setting the popcorn in the seat next to her.
My palm is still on her thigh when our mouths meet, bodies now turned to face one another, the cup holder that had once separated us now pushed out of the way.
Our tongues dance, the sweet taste of soda and the salt from her popcorn—buttery delicious—flirt with my senses as my fingers inch toward the center of her thighs. Light. Teasing.
She moans against my mouth, wiggling in her seat.
Encouraged by her excitement, I continue, my fingertips trailing along her inner thigh, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin layer of fabric.
Her lips curve into a small wicked smile. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
She’s breathless.
