Page 53 of The Player in New Zealand
Tane’s voice was quiet. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Legs down. Please.”
He obliged and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs and feeling just how sticky and wet I was.
“Twice,” Tane said, his voice holding a hint of wonderment. “Eighteen-year-old me is very impressed.”
I laughed and stretched my arms over my head, popping my back and rolling my shoulders. I reached out to Tane and used my gimme-hands. “Come here.”
Tane leaned down so I could wrap my arms around his neck, pressing his chest to mine and carefully stretching his legs out. I hooked my calves around his thighs and pressed my lips to his. A rumble went from his chest to mine and he rocked into me.
We kept it up like that, slow and gentle, Tane being careful not to crush me. Our tongues tangled and I felt every grunt, every little thrust, and then each pulse as Tane came.
SEVENTEEN
The next morningI awoke to Tane shifting on the bed beside me. He’d been a heavy weight next to me all night, and I often woke up to the feeling that gravity was conspiring with Tane to suck me into cuddling with him.
I didn’t mind.
“Morning,” I said. I lifted my head and looked around. The hotel curtains were doing a good job of blocking the light. The clock was over on Tane’s side and I couldn’t see it without making more effort.
I flopped my head back and closed my eyes. Tane moved around, bouncing me slightly on the mattress.
“How do you feel?” His voice was thick and sleepy.
I scissored my legs, feeling the good kind of soreness—no pinches or sharp pain, just the dull ache of muscles stretched and tender. “I feel good.” I cracked one eye open. “You?”
He was facedown on the bed, his cheek smashed into the pillow, lips loose and floppy. “I’m good too.”
A smile broke out on my face. “I feel a bit bad,” I said, and Tane quirked an eyebrow at me. “We only get one night, and we did my favorite position. Not yours.”
After Tane’s grand finale last night, we had both cleaned up and passed right out. My limbs were still heavy, my mouth cotton-filled and my brain groggy. I’d slept hard—a busy weekend of social pressures, touristing, and killer orgasms would do that to a girl.
“What is your favorite position?”
Tane grinned at me slyly. “Well, there’s no need for me to tell you, right? We won’t be doing that again. Back to work tomorrow, hey?”
I pouted at him. “I bet I can guess. If I guess right, will you tell me?”
“No.” Tane raised himself up onto his elbows to look at the clock. “Shit,” he said with a laugh.
I lifted my head, and on seeing the clock, I asked, “What time is checkout?”
Tane reached for the bedside phone. “Fifteen minutes ago.”
“Fuck.”
* * *
“Doggy style,”I said. We were in the truck, empty travel mugs between us and the caffeine counteracting the sex coma.
Tane snorted in surprise. “What?”
“I’m trying to guess your favorite position. You said you’d tell me if I guessed it.”
“I never agreed to that,” he argued.
“So it’s not doggy style?” I gave him side-eye.
