Page 129 of Playing for Keeps
His hands grip my hips, his fingers tightening. “You feel amazing, baby,” he groans.
Right then, his phone rings again. This time, the sound drags a frustrated growl from his throat. It’s not pleasure, it’s annoyance.
“I swear to God, I’m going to kill whoever keeps calling,” he mutters, his jaw tight.
“Do you want to get it?” I ask, pausing.
“Hell no,” he says firmly. “I’m making love to my girlfriend, and nothing is more important than this.”
I can’t help but smile at that, the wordgirlfriendmaking my heart flutter. “What should I do?” I ask, a little shyly. I’ve never been on top before.
“I’ll guide you, baby,” he says.
His hands find my hips with a gentle touch, guiding me into a slow, steady rhythm, one that feels like so much more than just physical. I feel so in sync with him, so deeply connected, and I never want the feeling to end.
When his head falls back against the sofa and a deep groan escapes his throat, I realize I must be doing something right. It feels incredible for me, but more than anything, I want it to feel good for him too.
I lean down to kiss him, and his hands come up to cup my breasts, his thumbs teasing over my nipples. Then one hand slides lower, circling my clit, and suddenly my rhythm falters as the pleasure ramps up.
“I’m going to come, Wyatt,” I whisper against his lips, breathless.
“I’m right there with you, baby,” he groans, his voice tight.
When he pinches my clit, it shatters me. I cry out, trembling as the orgasm rips through me, and the way my body tightens around him must send him over the edge too. He jerks beneath me, his head falling back as he comes with a hoarse moan.
We’re both left breathless, our bodies still tangled together, riding the aftershocks. Wyatt wraps his arms around me as I collapse against him, my face buried in the curve of his neck. He holds me there tightly until our breathing slows.
I lift my head and meet his eyes. “I love you.”
He smiles, warm and a little dazed. “I love you too, baby.”
I slowly lift myself off him, still trembling slightly.
“I’ll go clean up,” he murmurs, kissing me lightly before standing. “Be right back.”
I watch him walk, completely naked, across the apartment. Then I reach for his jersey, pulling it over my head and sinking back into the cushions, the warmth of him still wrapped around me.
He returns a few minutes later, just pulling on his sweats, when a loud knock echoes through the apartment.
“Who the hell is that?” he mutters, grabbing his T-shirt and yanking it over his head.
“Probably whoever kept calling you,” I say, adjusting the hem of his jersey. “Should I change?”
He shakes his head. “No. Whoever it is isn’t coming in. No sharing tonight, remember?”
I laugh, and he steals a quick kiss just as another, louder knock rattles the door.
“Jesus, I’m coming!” he calls, heading toward the entryway. I stay back in the living room.
“Cleo? Ronnie? What are you doing here?” I hear Wyatt say, his voice caught between surprise and irritation.
“Well, maybe if you answered your damn phone, you’d know,” Cleo snaps, and I wince at her tone.
“I’m busy, Cleo. What do you want?”
“We need to talk,” Ronnie says more gently. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
