Page 70 of Playing Dirty
“Fucking your tight, perfect ass would be a dream,” I tell him, a grin tugging at my lips. “But I promise, I’m good either way. Perks of being a switch on and off the field.”
He bursts out laughing, his entire body shaking against mine. I aim a dirty look at him and reach down, poking him in the ribs a few times until he starts squirming beneath me.
“Asshole. Why are you laughing?”
It takes him a second to regain his composure, only to let out a big, dramatic sigh. “I was thinking about you telling me you were a switch in Vermont.”
Oh, shit. I totally forgot about that.
“Not my finest moment, I’ll admit,” I mutter with an eye roll. “Glad it caught your attention, though.”
He just grins, his hand cupping the side of my face while pressing his lips to mine again. He pulls back before I can deepen it, and gives me a little shrug before saying, “I’m not against trying it, by the way.”
“Really?”
Sure, he’s mentioned liking to experiment in the bedroom—and has proven as much—but for whatever reason, I fully expected it to be afuck noon his part. Yet here he is, shrugging a second time, like getting fucked in the ass is no biggie.
“I have no idea if I’ll like it, obviously. My worry is more about needing you to stop something you’re enjoying if I’m not.”
The statement causes me to tense, and I lean back, pinning him with something bordering a stare and a glare.
“One, you will always tell me if you want me to stop. Anything we try, whenever it might be. Got it?” When he nods, I relax a little and continue. “And two, if it’s something you’re interested in, we start small. A finger or two. Some plugs. Maybe even my tongue.”
There’s a flicker of lust darkening his eyes, and once again, it floors me how clearly receptive he continues to be.
“All fantastic options,” he murmurs, his fingers scraping over my jaw. “I’ll admit, from the sounds you made the other night, I got a little jealous of how good it must’ve felt.”
“Otherworldly would be more accurate,” I counter with a grin. “I’m happy to introduce you to your prostate if and when you’re ready. There’s no pressure on my end.”
“Okay,” he whispers, sage eyes flicking back and forth between mine.
I shift my weight onto one arm and use my free hand to caress the line of his jaw before tracing down his throat, then along his collarbone. I follow the trail they make with my gaze, thoroughly obsessed with the way my tattoos contrast against his tan, virgin skin.
“You’re different than I expected,” he says suddenly.
The statement pulls my gaze back to his, and my lips twitch into a grin.
“I have no doubt about that. I’m sure you made up the worst possibleversion of me in your head.”
A little chuckle leaves him. “Shit, maybe you really are a mind reader.”
“It’s a gift,” I tease, though my mood sobers when I think about everything that led us here. All the fighting and bickering, the jabs and taunts, and it’s a little crazy to think it was all barely more than a month ago.
It feels like a lifetime already.
“I prefer this a helluva lot more than when you hated me,” I find myself saying.
“I didn’t hate you.”
I snort out a soft laugh. “Right. Sure, you didn’t.”
“I’m serious,” he immediately denies.
His hand presses against my sternum in a silent request for me to get off him. Despite wanting to stay exactly where I am, I roll off to the side, and without my body pinning him to the mattress, he sits up against the headboard.
There’s a depth of sincerity in his gaze when he speaks next, like he’s imploring me to hear what he’s saying with his eyes as much as he is with words.
“I never hated you, Madden.”
