Page 32 of Power Play
“I slipped.”
He snorts, actually snorts. “Youslipped. Onto my face?”
“Accidents happen.”
His mouth crashes back onto mine, and this time there’s no teasing. No jokes. Just heat. His hands are everywhere; under the hoodie, skimming my sides, mapping me as though he’s memorising my shape. I let out a gasp when his fingers slide beneath my bra, thumbs brushing across my nipples in a way that turns my spine to liquid.
“That’s... not fair,” I breathe.
“Who said I play fair?”
Murphy walks me backward, this time with real intent. Through the hallway, past the half-shut door that leads to the bathroom, until we reach my bedroom. It’s a bit of a mess, some laundry on a chair, a crumpled jersey on the floor, but I barely register it before I’m on the bed with him following me down, all heavy heat and rough hands.
“You good?” he asks suddenly, his tone softer.
I blink up at him, surprised by the shift.
“Yeah. You?”
He kisses me again before I can roll my eyes a second time, and then we’re undressing each other in between ridiculous one-liners.
“You know,” I say as I tug his shirt over his head, “this is going to ruin our entire dynamic.”
“Can’t ruin perfection.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“And yet,still, you’re unbuttoning my jeans.”
“Tragically, yes.”
He groans when my fingers skim over the front of his boxers, and I can’t help the victorious grin that pulls at my lips. He’s solid heat,all muscle and taut skin, and when he tugs the hoodie and my shirt off in one swoop, his breath catches.
“Holyshit, Sophie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What?”
“Just... you. Like this.” He makes a helpless gesture as if he’s overwhelmed. “You’re unreal.”
I feel something shift then. Something warm and stupid and dangerous. I push it down.
“No sweet-talking,” I murmur as I reach for him again. “We agreed this was strictly fake mutually assured destruction.”
“Oh, I plan to destroy you.”
“Promises, promises.”
And then it’s fast again, messy in the best way. His mouth on my neck, my chest, my stomach. His fingers finding places that make me writhe and swear, and forget how to breathe. I’m not quiet, and he clearly likes that, grinning wickedly every time he pulls a sound out of me that borders on a moan.
“Murphy…God…there,”
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Soph. Give a guy something to work with.”
“You alreadyare.”
