Page 152 of Playing the Pucking Game
The silence between us stretches on. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation and desire. But it doesn’t matter how strong it is. I can’t do it.
Forcing my eyes open, I stare into his. They’re a darker blue than usual, and the sight of his own desire hits me like a truck.
He wants you.
Out of every willing woman out there, tonight, he wants you.
Fire courses through my veins, colliding between my thighs, causing a delicious ache that nothing but the man himself will be able to sate.
But he can’t have me tonight. Because tomorrow, it’ll be over, and he’ll want someone else.
“Anything,” he says softly, leaning forward and resting his forehead against mine.
I didn’t think it was possible, but his scent gets stronger.
“Tonight. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. Whatever you?—”
I reach up and press my fingers against his lips.
I can’t hear this.
My lips part to say something, although I’m terrified of what it might be. My resolve is cracking. The way he’s looking at me with his big puppy dog eyes. Fuck.
Lincoln Storm is my kryptonite.
But before I get a word out, his cell chimes loudly.
Closing his eyes, he exhales a long breath that tickles over my face and down my neck. My nipples pebble, and thank fuck for the hoodie, because I have no doubt he’d be able to see just how he’s affecting me without it.
“Dinner’s here,” he rasps.
“Then you should probably go and get it,” I say, taking that as my cue to step back and finally put some space between us.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes dropping to his hand that was previously cupping my cheek. He hesitates for a moment before lifting it to drag through his hair.
The movement causes his shirt to ride up, giving me an uninterrupted view of the V-lines and trail of hair that disappears into his sweats. And when I get lower, I discover that I’m not the only one affected by our proximity. He isn’t fully hard. But he isn’t soft, either.
My thighs clench at the sight, but with the distance between us now, it’s easier to brush aside.
“Parker, I—” His cell chimes again. “I’m going to get that.”
With one final longing look, he takes off toward the elevator.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself as I tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ear and drop back onto the couch.
Despite needing a moment to myself to get my head straight, Linc seems to be back faster than humanly possible.
“Are you choosing something to watch?” he asks as he lowers the bag to the coffee table.
I keep my eyes locked on where the food is hiding as the scent of melted cheese and spices fills the room.
“You got out here first. You get to select what we watch. That was the rule.”
His eyes shoot to me, but despite his attention making my skin tingle, I don’t look up. I can’t risk it.
“I don’t have a problem with breaking the rules, babe.”
I know he’s smirking. I don’t need to look up to see it.
