Page 33 of The Playboy SEAL
“Fuck!” he yells again. He shakes his head, still grinning like a lunatic. “We’re almost home,” he says, readjusting his dick so I can’t see it anymore. My face must fall, because he responds, “Baby, you can have so much more of that. However much you want. All of it. Anytime you want. Let me park the car. If I thought I could safely get us there and come down your hot fucking throat, I would have let you continue. I think my whole body was buzzing.” His eyebrows are raised, and his dimples are on full display. “Jesus, your mouth.”
He rubs a palm down the front of his unzipped jeans. “And we better do it fast before I get blue balls again. God, I want to come in you so badly,” he says, shaking his head.
“I’m more than a mouth, you know?” I should have downplayed my skills. This always happens.
His dimples disappear. “I know.” It’s a simple response, but it insinuates so much more. “Trust me, I know.” He pulls into a long driveway.
His house is beautiful. It’s a ranch-style home with landscaping and lots of tools and sawdust out on the front patio. He parks in front of the two-car garage and explains that he has so many projects going on this weekend with some friend named Tahoe, he had to use his garage to prep. He usually parks his vehicle in there otherwise.
His sexual excitement turns into something else aswe approach his front door. He starts talking faster, explaining why certain things are the way they are even though I never asked. He avoids looking at me as he pulls out his key. It hangs from a Louis Vuitton keychain and holds nothing else but the fob that starts his car. He pushes the door open and motions for me to walk in first. You can taste the hesitance in the air. I feel like he’s going to push me out of his world at any moment, decide it’s a horrible idea to have me in his life now that coming down my throat isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Because that’s all I’m truly good for. I’m almost sorry it’s the third date because after this he’ll be less and less enthralled until we have sex, and then he’ll be done with me.
“I want you to know how much this means to me. I don’t let people in my world,” he admits.
I hear his keys hit the table in the entryway as I look around. It’s beautiful. Even in the dismantled state it’s in, I’m able to see his vision. The ceilings are high, and everything is open. The walls are a crisp white, and the furniture he does have is tasteful, expensive. The scent of sawdust and new paint is overwhelming. I wrinkle my nose.
Macs is watching my face. “What? What is it?” He cranes his neck to see my line of vision.
I see a door down the hallway. It’s closed. “It’s beautiful. I love the entrance.” I point to the glass doors that open to the beautiful California view. “The eau de construction is strong, that’s all.” Facing him, I place my hands on his strong shoulders. “You’re pretty awesome with your hands,” I say, hoping the compliment willlighten the mood. It doesn’t.
His eyes dart to the closed door and then back to me, and he swallows. “Want something to drink? I have beer or water.”
I raise one brow. “It’s the middle of the day. Beer?”
“I’m feeling real squirrely right now, so I hope you don’t mind if I have one.”
He leaves me for the fridge, pops the top off a brown bottle, and downs it in several gulps, his head tilted toward the ceiling. When he finishes it, he stares at me, unblinking. I press my lips together, and wait for him to say something.
“Maybe I’ll have one more,” he finally says. He does. Then he looks at me again, like my face holds the answer of what comes next.
I laugh. “This is ludicrous. If you have to get drunk, I shouldn’t even be here.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not getting drunk because you’re here, Teala. I’m getting drunk because of what it means. Still want to have our third date?” he asks, pulling his T-shirt up to expose his abs. He bites the dark, cotton fabric, like men in fashion magazines do. With his abs flexed, he poses so casually, so fucking drool-worthy, so over-the-top, and he gets away with it. He tosses the shirt onto the counter, with his tongue caught between his teeth.
I blow out a breath. It’s as hot as a Channing Tatum movie. More so, actually, because I can touch this body, can do whatever I want with it. “How am I supposed to say anything but yes when you don’t play fair? You’reover there with your goddamn abs and dimples and precision stripping skills.” I motion to his body.
“Babe, you played dirty first. Your mouth is like a fucking dirty poker game. One you’ll win every single time.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Thanks, I guess. Third date?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
“Let’s go to my bedroom.” He rushes me then—all muscles and stolen breaths in between teeth and kisses. “It does smell like work out here.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Macs
My heart might explodeout of my chest. It’s pounding with so much adrenaline I’m not sure how to control it. Honestly, I don’t want to control it. She’s in my arms and her lips are on mine, and I’m opening the door to my bedroom. It’s like I’m Indiana fucking Jones, and I’m opening the door to the room filled with riches beyond my wildest dreams. Teala is in my space. She doesn’t look around when I let her feet touch the floor, though. Not like I would. I’d need to study every single detail first. She doesn’t know what this means, has no clue of the magnitude of what’s happening. Hell, what’s already happened.
She’s warm against my body, and I can’t tear my gaze from her mouth. Her perfect fucking mouth that does things I never knew were possible. I kiss her. Just once. Hard and furious because I want to taste her now that she’s in my bedroom. Does it feel differently? It doesn’t. It feels just as surreal.
She sucks in air and looks at me with this “fuck me”smile and eyes only for me. I’m not sure what made me take her here. I could have talked her into a hotel room by her apartment. I saw it on her face. I could have bent her to my will. She wants this as much as I do.
I want her here in my space. In my world. In my fucking bed. I want her. Not because I haven’t fucked in a while either.
Because sometime while we were playing pretend something shifted.
“Can I use your bathroom?” she asks, eyes wide and cheeks blushed.
I point to the side of my room where a set of white double doors leads through to my bathroom.
