Page 73 of Bleacher Report
He licks his lips, his eyes darting to mine. "And what were we doing?"
"You had me naked, pressed against the locker room wall. My hands pinned over my head."
His breath catches, and he mumbles out something akin to “fuck.”
"Warning, Peyton," he says softly, and before I can protest, his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is soft at first—sweet, tentative. Then it deepens. His hand tangles in my hair. My fingers clutch his shoulders. His hips press up, and suddenly I'm not thinking anymore.
I'm feeling. I'm aching, desperately pulling him closer.
Then he moves.
An arm wraps behind me. One smooth shift and he's on top of me, nudging my legs apart with the heavy weight of his thigh. His cock presses between us, thick and hard beneath the thin cotton of his briefs. My breath hitches.
“I can make it better than the dream,” he says, lips brushing against my throat. “How bad are you aching for release, Peyton?”
“We have rules,” I say, but my objection is too weak for either of us to take seriously.
His mouth pulls back, and his green eyes find mine. Dilated and hungry for this as much as I am.
“You never said I can’t make you come with my fingers. Tell me yes and I’ll take care of you,” he says. “It’s painful how bad you need this, isn’t it?”
I nod, and then his mouth crashes back against mine, his right hand gently caressing down the side of my body.
His phone buzzes, but we both know that if he stops now and this moment is broken, this won’t happen again.
He ignores his phone, dips his hand between my legs, and I cry out when his thumb brushes over my clit.
And then—his phone rings again.
We both freeze.
“Maybe you should see who that is?” I say.
He growls in annoyance at the interruption, forehead dropping to mine. “And stop where this is going? Even if it were Everett Kauffman himself offering to triple my contract salary to take his call right now, it wouldn't be worth giving this up.”
I laugh, breathless. The thought that Hunter wants to touch me this bad has me enjoying every moment of this.
“You should check. Just in case.”
He sighs, pulling away just enough to reach the phone on the nightstand. His jaw clenches.
“It’s my agent. His text says 911.”
I blink. I know he’s worried about what kind of deal Bethany might be conjuring up with Everett Kauffman. “Take it.”
He hesitates. “You’ll still be here when I get back?”
No, of course not. We both know this is a bad idea, but I couldn’t tell him that or he won’t take the call.
I want him. I want his lips all over me and his fingers inside me, and I know that’s the last thing this complicated situationneeds. Worst of all, my inability to stay on my side of the bed put us in this position.
“I don’t know,” I lie, though the destructive part of me wants a Hunter Reed-produced orgasm.
His eyes search mine, but I can tell he doesn’t completely believe me. “Just give me five minutes. Stay.”
I don’t say anything, but I can see that he’s feeling anxious to not miss his second call.
