Page 9 of Player
Clarissa
The apartment is illuminated in candlelight. Pillows decorate the floor beneath us. An empty whiskey bottle lies nearby on its side. My victory chant still rings in the air, but it’s shifting into something else entirely.
Something I initiated ... when I placed my hand on his cock.
He didn’t push it away. No, his lips curled—or at least beneath all that bristle I think they did—at my bold move. He’s sprawled back onto his forearms, thick cushions wedged behind him and legs spread like he’s awaiting his pleasure. Relaxed after winning two of our three games.
Unusually quiet.
It’s unnerving, his silence.
What is he thinking?
I rub my hand across his hardness, tempting a response. Except for the gleam in his eyes, he doesn’t react.
“Cat got your tongue?” I press. I feel him hardening beneath my palm. My touch—my sassing him—turns him on. And Lord have mercy, but he wasn’t lying in the Fiat. He’s sporting a mighty fine package.
“Who are you?”
My eyebrows raise. It’s a simple question, coming from a complicated man. “Who do you want me to be?”
He grunts.
I grin and give him a little squeeze.
“Tell you what,” he says, calm as a Maine winter evening. Like he’s immune to the hand rubbing his crotch, like he’s about to suggest we discuss the weather or slip outside to watch the grass grow. “I’ll knock the hole off you until you’re screaming hail Mary. But I’m not a piece of meat. If we’re going there, things between us needs to be intimate.”
The whiskey’s dulled my thoughts because what is he saying now?“Intimate?”
“Yeah, intimate. I want to feel like I can trust you with my person.”
I choke back a laugh. He seems dead serious. My eyes drift to the empty whiskey bottle. He did drink more than me ... except he’s twice my size.
He pushes my hand off him and rolls up to sit. “Guess it’s askin’ too much for you to be honest with me.”
Oh. My. God. Seriously? I’ve hurt his feelings?
I narrow my eyes at him.
He stares back at me like a little lost boy.
It’s an act, my jumbled thoughts rationalize. I’m an excellent judge of character, and our time together tells me he’s more player than the picture of godly innocence.
I lost our bet. I lost two games out of three but suspect he allowed me to win the third. And I get the feeling I caught a glimmer of his true nature while he was taunting and teasing me during the game. Competitive, yes. Calculating, you bet. Likable ... yeah, that too. He wants me to confide in him. If I do so, will he return the favor?
I come onto my knees, straddle his lap, and shove him down into the pillows. “Intimate enough for you?”
“Getting warmer,” is his soft reply.
“Fine. I’ll give you honest. I had relations with a coworker in an office closet. My boss, to be precise. We got caught. I was fired. That asshole got promoted. With your help, I can redeem my good name.”
“The feck you say?” He bucks up beneath me.
“Hot enough now?”
“Figures I’d take home a real live wire.”
“That’s right.” I lean down over him. “Be careful oryoumight get burned.”
