Page 25 of The Playboy SEAL
“That’s a promise,” he says.
I lick my lips. “Another drink then?”
He’s already shaking his head before the full question leaves my lips.
“Water? An ice pack? Something for the pain?”
He flops down on the white linen sofa. I try not to make a face. It’s not really a sofa for sitting. More for admiring. It took me several weeks to locate the throw that’s perfectly draping over the left arm. I saw it on Pinterest and located it using reverse image searches and a lot of phone calls to random home décor stores. Macs leans down and puts his head on it.
I sit on the opposite end, the one where there aren’t any expensive, clean blankets, and drop his bare feet on my lap. “Okay, what next then?” I ask.
“Give me a few. I’m still trying to erase the image of you writhing against me while moaning from my mind.”
I bite my lip as my core clenches again. Tightly this time. It wants sex. Macs’s sex. “After you do the impossible, what then?”
My cell phone buzzes on the countertop. He turns his head. I’m not sure if he’s wondering if it’s his or if the sight of my cell phone reminds him of something, but he stands up. Pacing back to the window, he looks down again. I fluff the blanket and go to stand next to him.
“I should go,” he whispers. When he looks at me, his face is changed. It’s weird having him here and not naked in my bedroom, so it’s hard for me to not agree.
I nudge him from the side. “We’re doing such a good job, though.”
He laughs. It’s a joke. We’re seconds from having sex on every surface in my house.
“I understand if you want to take off.”
He needs to get off.
He tells me he has a work trip and probably won’t see me for a while. I try, and probably fail, to hide my disappointment. I tell him I’m busy at the studio anyway. He gets nervous, turning his head as if to stretch his neck.
“Spit it out,” I prompt him.
“So we,” he says, motioning between our bodies, “we’re exclusive?” He grimaces, and it’s over exaggerated, so it clues me into a couple of things. He’s uncomfortable asking, so he’s using humor, and he’s also testing the waters with regard to our fake dating deal. It seems less fake every second we’re together. There’s no way I’d tell him that.
“You’re not banging dudes?”
I raise one brow and suck in a long breath. “You’re not banging chicks?”
He turns away. My cell buzzes on the counter again. It draws his attention immediately. I know why.
“You can do whatever you want to do, Macs. I’m not your girlfriend. Or your mom. Just go.”
He smiles. It hurts my stomach. It’s what he wants to hear. “You’re my dream come true, you know that?” he exclaims.
The pain in my stomach turns solid and sinks even further. I can’t and won’t go on any dates with anyone else. Crossing my legs at the ankle, I try to squelch the desire coursing through every nerve ending. “Yeah, yeah. I get that a lot. So, next date?”
Macs senses the change. He turns my face using one finger on my chin. He can’t see disappointment. I won’t let him. The shield is confidently in place.
“Third base date?” He studies my face, ostensibly looking for any sort of deceit. He won’t find it.
“You won’t leave with blue balls?” I try a joke.
He laughs, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He holds my chin in his hand, like I’m a petulant, disobedient child.
Instead of saying something meant to reassure me, he leans down and kisses me, his tongue diving in my mouth. He’s careful to keep his body away from mine. It’s just a kiss. Something I can’t say I’ve ever had. A kiss with desire and moans, one that doesn’t lead to anything else. No blow jobs or finger banging, just a meeting of mouths because we both enjoy the way it feels. I think, anyway. I can’t get a true read of him. Both of his hands are on either side of my face. He holds me reverently, gently.
He pulls away and looks at me through eyes that aren’t hiding anything for the moment. My kiss has disarmed him, if only for a second or two. He’s just as intrigued by our chemistry as I am. “I’m not going to be with any other women, Tay-la,” he growls.
“Oh,” I say.
