Page 9 of Changing the Playbook
She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks she’ll curse me for tomorrow. “Mike…”
“Is this OK?” I murmur against her skin.
“Yes.”
I trail kisses down her throat, across the ridge of her collarbone, to the soft swell of her breasts above her bra. Simple cotton. White. Practical, rather than seductive, which somehow makes my cock throb harder. I reach around to her back, finding the clasp and releasing it with a practice I’m not particularly proud of.
The bra falls away and, Christ, she’s perfect.
Small, firm breasts topped with pale pink nipples that tighten under my gaze like they’re camera-shy. I cup one gently, feeling the weight of it in my palm, and run my thumb over thepeaked tip. Color floods her skin and she arches into my touch, making a sound that’s half-gasp, half-moan, all music.
I continue my exploration of her body. I kiss down her sternum, where I can feel her heart hammering, over the subtle curve of her stomach that trembles under my lips, to the waistband of her jeans. I look up, waiting for her nod before I pop the button.
When she gives it, I push her back onto the bed and she gasps at the sudden shift. Then I’m peeling denim down her legs like I’m unwrapping the world’s best Christmas present, pressing kisses to each new territory I conquer—the inside of her knee, the soft skin of her calf, the arch of her foot.
She lets out a sound that’s half-giggle, half-gasp, and her toes curl. “Mike…”
“Ticklish?” I grin against her skin.
“A little.” Her voice wobbles between embarrassment and arousal.
I work my way back up, lingering at her inner thigh where the skin is silk-soft and scented with her arousal. All that remains are her panties—white cotton like the bra, practical and somehow impossibly sexy for it—and I can’t wait to see what’s beneath.
But, first, my fingers hook into the waistband as I pause. “These too?”
There’s a heartbeat of hesitation before she nods. “Yes.”
I glide them down with the same reverence I showed her jeans, watching her face as I reveal her completely. She shivers as the cotton passes her thighs, her knees, her ankles, until finally she’s bare before me. But I don’t immediately cover her with my body or dive between her legs like rookie me would have.
Instead, I kneel at the foot of the bed like a supplicant, just looking at her, memorizing every freckle scattered across herchest like stars, every gentle curve, every place where her skin flushes pink. She squirms under my attention, thighs pressing together, but she holds my gaze.
Brave.
Perfect.
I crawl back up the bed, bracing myself above her on forearms that shake slightly, not from exertion but from the effort of restraint. My cock strains against my jeans, demanding attention I refuse to give it at this moment, because this moment is all about her.
She surprises me by maintaining eye contact even now, despite the nervousness swimming in those gray depths alongside curiosity and something that might be trust beginning to bloom like a fragile spring flower. It ignites my desire even more.
“Can I kiss your neck?” I ask, my voice rougher than intended.
She nods, and I descend.
I start at her left nipple, and when I suck gently, she gasps and arches against me, her body moving with an honesty that makes my head spin. The response is so immediate, so raw, that I file it away in the part of my brain labeled “Sophie’s Instruction Manual.”
Chapter One: This spot right here.
I suck harder, and she moans, a sound so genuine and uncontrolled that I feel reverberate through my chest. Her hands tangle in my hair, not pushing away but pulling closer, like she’s trying to climb inside my skin. I have to close my eyes and think about anything that isn’t how badly I want to be inside her right now.
“Mike,” she says, breathy and desperate, and it nearly ends me.
My hand drifts down her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my touch, stopping just above where I know she’s aching. I pull back from her neck to meet her eyes, and understanding dawns on her face followed immediately by a blush that paints her from chest to hairline.
She nods before I can ask.
I brush lower, through soft curls already damp with arousal, and gently part her. She’s soaking, molten, and the discovery sends a jolt straight to my cock that has me breathing through my nose like I’m furious in the penalty box. And, when I stroke her with one finger, barely grazing, she whimpers.
“Good?” I grin.
