Page 46 of Played
I know that about myself too.
I know that.
I also know that I want her. Fuck, Icraveher. There’s no denying it to myself anymore, especially staring down into her dark eyes that reflect glimmers of hurt. Hurt I placed there with my careless handling of her.
If I was on the ice and made a mistake on a play, I wouldn’t bench myself like a pussy. I’d get back in there and try to regain whatever I’d cost my team. Shit, I even teach Khalil that—if he does somebody wrong, apologize. But after I hurt Adina when she lowered her guard, allowed herself to be vulnerable with me ... placed her trust in me ...
“I’m sorry.”
Adina blinks. Blinks again. “Excuse me?”
Her shock should be amusing. Instead, it just makes me feel like shit.
“I said, I’m sorry.” When her face balls up, I hold up a hand, and her lips snap shut, but the frown remains. “Not for the kiss. And you were right. I did want to regret it, wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. But I couldn’t ... I haven’t. Even though I feel like I should be, after having had my mouth on you, my tongue in you, I’m not sorry that I know what you taste like. Like the rawest high-priced whiskey. One hit had me on my ass, and I panicked. You—” I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth together. My survival instincts kick in, warning me not to let the words scrambling onto my tongue free. But that’s fear talking. Fear and ... panic. And for once, I have to put someone else above my own selfish needs. “You are the first woman I’ve kissed since my wife ... since my wife. That had me feeling some kinda way, but I should’ve dealt with my own shit another time and not let you walk away from me believing you were a mistake. That was never my intention, ma.”
She stares at me, those pretty brown eyes wide, her features softened in shock.
“I’m the first woman you’ve ki—that can’t be right.” She shakes her head. “You told me yourself that you’ve been with other women in the last two years. That you ...”
“I have fucked other women. But giving ’em dick and kissing ’em are two different things. One is damn near transactional, a biological need to bust a nut. And the other ...”
The other is personal. More intimate.
I don’t say that aloud, but I don’t need to. Adina nods, understanding clouding her gaze.
“Now it’s my turn to apologize,” she murmurs.
“For what?”
“Because if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have asked you to kiss me. I feel like I pressured you into—”
“Put that out your head and mouth, li’l mama. Can’t no one make me do shit I don’t want to. It’s why I kissed you; it’s why I’m here now. Khalil wanted to see the ‘firelady’”—she gives a soft snort, and I smile—“and so did I. And not just to make my kid’s day. But also to make sure you’re all right after all that shit went down.”
To see if my shit bricking up around you is a fluke.
Nope. No fluke.
Upstairs, when that ass bumped up against my thighs while she talked smack to her brother, my dick sat on swole, ready to drill a hole through her fucking back.
Nah, baby girl gets me hard by just breathing. And something tells me even that’s optional.
Damn, that’s sick as fuck. Li’l mama got me on some necrophilia shit.
“Thank you.” Head tilted, she studies me, those eyes roaming my face. “For coming by and bringing Khalil. Like I said, he’s a complete joy to be around. And for the apology. I told myself I didn’t need it, but now that I have it, that was a lie.” A rueful smile curves her mouth. “Maybe you’re not acompleteasshole. And ...”
She cuts off the rest of her sentence, a small wrinkle creasing the skin above the bridge of her nose.
“Nah, say it,” I urge.
No sense in holding back, especially since we both seem to be in the confessing spirit. Besides, I find myself desperate to know what’s on her mind. Hell, desperate for her thoughts, her voice. I hunger to be inside this woman in more ways than the obvious one.
The frown deepens, but she exhales a low breath and shifts her gaze away from me so she’s looking at some point over my shoulder. I don’t like that shit; I want her eyes on me. But I don’t call her on it.
“Okay.” It’s still several seconds before she speaks again. “Maybe you needed me to be your first kiss, just like I needed you to be mine. With someone who understands you, what you’ve lost and how feeling a little alive for a few moments is better than the emptiness that convinces you you’re dead inside and there’s no hope of resurrection. No Easter Sunday rolling of the stone for you. Yeah ...” She nods, finally lifting her head, and what little breath I still possess she drives away with the darkness in her eyes. A darkness that swirls with sadness, a hint of desperation, and a fuck-ton of lust. “Yeah,” she repeats, “when you get a taste of that hope, you’ll do anything to hold on to it, try to stretch it from a few minutes into longer. Just as long as you feel something other than that ... nothing.”
Breathe, dammit. Breathe before you pass the fuck out.
But my mentally growled order doesn’t penetrate as the rush of air in my head drowns out everything but her softly, carefully spoken words and the ones she once confessed to me on a dark street.
