Page 10 of Player
He laughs. I feel the reverberations straight down to my toes.
“Bottom up?”
“Excuse me?”
“They catch you arse up or on your back?” His blue eyes shimmer, just like they did when I confessed to having played Assassin’s Creed a time or two. I sigh, knowing how lame this story will sound to him.
“Neither.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“I was fully clothed. George’s pants were around his ankles. He asked me to say dirty, filthy things to him while he jerked himself off. That’s how they discovered us.”
He eats me up with his eyes like he’s memorizing my every intake of breath. “You taking thecraic?”
“What?”
“You’re serious?”
“Unfortunately, dead serious. “
“Must have been fine filth slipping from between those sweet lips.” He grins up at me, loving the idea. Not judgmental at all.
God, I can’t help myself. I arch forward and bring my mouth to his ear. “Want a taste?”
His smile slips. “Yeah.”
In my deepest, throatiest voice, I whisper, “Cover me with that hot come of yours. I want to rub it over my tits and stomach. Mark me.”
He makes a small noise in his throat. And it’s all the warning I get.
I squeal as I’m airborne and flipped onto my back. He presses me into the cushions then crawls on top. My gun is plucked free and sent sliding across the floor. My blouse is ripped open, tearing at the seam with buttons flying everywhere. My surprise at his “go get ’em” manner written all over my face. Before I can even think about bartering with him, he’s claimed a nipple between his teeth.
He nibbles then sucks. Lightly, with enough pressure to make me forget the thin barrier of lace between us.
Yes. I arch my back, feeding myself to him.
“Bet I can make you come just by sucking these pretty little pebbles,” he murmurs, tone deep and with a rawness to it that I haven’t heard before.
“Bet you can’t,” I challenge.
His competitive nature kicks in; I can feel it. But, for whatever reason, he holds himself back.
I place a hand on his arm and squeeze, encouragingly.
Interesting.
“Nice arms.”
He stiffens, but I’m too curious to stop myself from gliding my hands beneath his hideous poncho. In the position I’m in, I can only reach his abdomen. I cop a feel and my eyes go wide—his stomach is a wall of muscle. “I want to see you,” I command in a hoarse tone.
“Feckin’ hell.”
“Strip.”
“Can’t.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “Why not? Don’t feed me that lost boy bullshit, either.”
