Page 12 of Changing the Playbook
“It’s a very big deal.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “And, by the sounds of it, you’ve got years of catching up to do, so I’m happy to help with your studies.”
“Mike?” she says, suddenly serious. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for giving you orgasms. That’s like thanking someone for letting you breathe.”
She looks away, something shadowing her face. “But it’s not normal, is it? So… thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say softly. “And just so you know, watching you come is definitely in my top five favorite things.”
She laughs, shoving at me again. “Top five? What’s the competition?”
“Well, there’s my mom’s lasagna…” I pretend to think. “Yeah, you’re definitely up there.”
“Wow,” she smirks. “I’m truly honored to rank alongside layers of pasta and bolognaise sauce.”
“You should be.” I shrug. “And, hey, if you work at it, we might get you to number one before too long…”
“Game on,” she says.
And I grin and decide this is my new favorite sport.
four
SOPHIE
I slowly tracemy fingertips down Mike’s chest, following the ridge ofveryimpressive muscle that disappears into his waistband. Heat radiates through the thin cotton, and I’mdyingto feel his skin against my palms without any barrier between us.
“Can I take these off?” The words escape breathlessly, nothing like the clinical tone I use with patients.
Mike’s grin sends heat pooling low in my belly. “I’ll do you one better than that, Sophie.”
He rolls away and stands in one fluid motion that showcases every muscle in his back. His hands move to his jeans, and I prop myself on my elbows, mesmerized. Button, zipper, pants down. His shirt follows, pulled overhead in a way that makes his abs flex.
Black boxer briefs. That’s all that’s left.
And they donothingto hide how much he wants this.
How much he wants me.
“That was efficient,” I say, trying for casual, landing closer to worship.
He shrugs. “Gives me more time to please you.”
“What if I wanted to undress you torturously slowly?” I say, my boldness surprising me, although maybe it’s easier to be brave when he’s looking at me like I’m something precious instead of something convenient. “What if that gives me pleasure?”
Genuine contrition flashes across his face. “Shit, I didn’t think about that.” He actually starts backing away. “I can put my clothes back?—”
Laughter erupts from somewhere deep inside me, loosening the knot in my chest. He’s serious, and sincere, and totally ridiculous. He’sactuallyinching toward his discarded jeans like he’ll get dressed again just to let me have my way with him.
“Come here.” I grab his arm and tug.
He comes willingly, settling over me with careful precision, weight balanced on his forearms. The first brush of his lips against mine is gentle, testing, but when my hands find his shoulders—God, the warmth of him, the solidness—he deepens the kiss with a groan that vibrates through my chest.
My hands map the terrain of his body like I’m looking for treasure. The smooth expanse of his back. The valley of his spine. The curve where back meets ass, firm and perfect under my palms. Every touch sends data racing through my nervous system: warm, solid, male, here, wanting me.
His weight should feel oppressive—I’ve never liked being pinned down, never liked feeling trapped—but this is different. This is Mike’s careful control, the way he holds himself just close enough that I feel sheltered but not crushed. Protected but not imprisoned.
“Where else can I touch you?” His lips graze my ear. “How else can I make you come?”
