Page 23 of The Playboy SEAL
“So, is this the part where you kiss the ever-loving shit out of me?” I ask, drinking the rest of my cocktail and setting my own glass next to his.
He’s wearing a clean shirt, so I’ve surmised he musthave changed in the car. He still has the goddamn workout shorts on. I bet a woman designed them. They’re the kind that show a hard-on from six miles away. Macs has one. A big one. Kissing isn’t going to help that problem. Well, him kissing me on the lips isn’t going to fix that problem. Me kissing him somewhere else would fix it quite easily.
Quirking one brow, he runs a hand through his hair. “I could. Are you going to be a good host and show me the rest of your place first?”
Ah, hidden agendas. Yes.
I nod. “Well, you’ve seen my living room and kitchen.” I wave my arm to the large room we’re standing in.
He follows me down a hallway next to the kitchen.
“This is my spare room.” I open the door to a teal and white fluffy wonderland. They’re my mom’s favorite colors. She stays here sometimes, so I decorated the room with her in mind.
Macs bites his lip, uninterested in anything except his main goal. “And your room?”
“For the record, I don’t think you’re supposed to be seeing my bedroom this early in the dating process.” I close the door behind me and show him the guest bathroom. It’s solid white, including the hand soap bottle, but for the large artwork above the toilet.
“Also for the record, if we aren’t fucking in your bedroom, I don’t think it matters what room I’m seeing.” He nods at the artwork. “Sloths?” he asks with a smile.
I laugh as the uncomfortable sensation takes over my stomach. No one understands my obsession. Charlotte got me this picture last Christmas. It’s probably my favorite.
“You did say they were your favorites,” he amends, remembering one of our first conversations.
“Listen. Do something for me. Look at it,” I command.
He does, a small smile appearing on his lips.
“See? You can’t help but smile when you see a sloth. It’s like a happy pill. There’s something about the fur, the lumbering limbs, and sleepy faces. Nothing about them makes you upset.” Some people have Zen. I have sloths and a yoga studio.
I tug him out of the room, but not before I see his smile stretch a little further. Sloths. Gets them every time. “And this is my bedroom.” It’s black and gold. Like, shockingly black and gold. “I’m a sucker for a good theme,” I explain. The dark bed frame matches my black duvet and the furry pillows perfectly. “Before you ask, no, I’m not a vampire.” I tug the corner of my lip while I wait for his appraisal.
Spinning toward me, he quirks a brow. “Do you sparkle?” It’s an innocent, funny question, but it doesn’t match the feral look in his eyes as he goes back to surveying my bed. “I could make you sparkle,” he says, without looking at me.
“I’ve never been propositioned with that before,” I reply.
Macs prowls around my room, touching the surface of my dresser and the tall poster of my bed as he makes his way toward the window that looks out into the office building across the street. I trace the outline of my thumbnail with my ring finger. My nerves are at an all-time high, watching him in my space. He takes up so much room.
“Great views in here too,” I say nervously. I do have heavy black-and-gold striped drapes that cover this window. They’re open now, the soft glow of the city night flooding my bedroom, casting busy shadows on the black wooden floorboards.
He turns, leaning his back on the thick glass as he does. He slides his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and he visibly adjusts his dick from one side to the other. “I’d have to agree about that view,” he says, gaze zeroed in on me.
He lifts his shoulders off the glass and leans back on it again, as if he’s testing it for durability. It’s durable. A man once railed me so hard against it I was afraid it would break. The building orgasm was so intense, I didn’t even stop him. Death by orgasm. It describes everything that’s wrong with my life in one sexual escapade.
With one shaking hand, I grab the poster of my bed. “It’s sort of grandiose and stunning.”
He grins. I bite my cheek.
“People would kill for the view.”
“Yeah?” he asks. “But everyone isn’t granted that opportunity, are they? To kill for something they want?”
He’s a tease in the best kind of way. I’m so wet he could go swimming in my vagina and get lost in the current. His muscles flex and bunch as he talks, and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s so cocky. He’s an asshole. A mean guy. The definition of sex encapsulated in a package so divine I can’t control myself while he’s in my proximity. No woman can. That’s why he is the way he is. Women are to blame for this. And I still want him.
“They aren’t granted opportunity. It’s an exclusive building,” I reply. I can keep this charade up as long as he can. It’s distracting me from the fact a perfectly comfortable bed resides mere feet away from this man’s body.
Leaning up, he tucks his chin to his chest. He crosses to me in two large steps. “The thing with me is I’m privy to all exclusive things. People don’t tell me no. Ever.”
“Women don’t tell you no, you mean?” I amend his obviously untrue statement.
