Page 40 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs against my throat. By the way he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down to my collarbone, though, he’s showing no signs of slowing down.
“Do you want to stop?” I ask breathlessly.
“Fuck no.”
I can feel his smile against my skin as he nips gently at my jawline, spurring a gasp to fall from my lips. He chuckles, and a flutter beats in my chest at the sound.
God, that laugh. It could bring a woman to her knees. It has before, in fact, and it might again.
“Maybe just this once?” I say, my voice small but hopeful. We’ve done this before. Sort of. What’s once more?
But instead of his low, rich voice in reply, a different voice answers. A soft, feminine voice from outside the door.
“Room service.”
My stomach leaps into my throat as I shoot up in bed, pushing Holt as far away from me as possible.
Holy awkward.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he reassures me, rearranging himself in his joggers before heading for the door.
A young dark-haired woman dressed in black smiles as she wheels in a silver cart, oblivious to the situation she just interrupted.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to make myself as small as possible on the bed, hoping my robe will let me blend in with the white duvet. Once our food is set up, Holt slips the girl a few bills from his wallet, thanking her before locking the door behind her.
“So, uh . . .” He shoves his hands into his pockets, smiling at me shyly. “I guess we should eat?”
After a long pause, I burst out laughing and Holt grins, and all the tension in the room dissipates. Even the most awkward moments are made a little bit better by his presence.
With the awkwardness out of the way, we relocate to the small table in the corner and digging in. Between bites, we talk about music, and he sends me the playlist he had on in the car the other day, making me promise to listen to it before the game tomorrow.
“It’ll hype you up,” he says, muscling the cork out of our bottle of rosé. “I promise.”
Once our glasses are filled, I lift mine in the air, arching a brow in his direction. “What should we toast to?”
“To letting people in,” he says with a smile, and before I can agree, he clinks his glass against mine, making it official.
The wine goes down smooth and easy. A little too easy, maybe, because after a lively debate about which nineties bands are the best, we’ve both finished our glasses.
Holt listens to me talk about the team, to my ramblings about save percentages, goals, and assists, then listens when I complain about the sports commentator who seems to have it in for me. And he grins when I help myself to a little more wine and say fuck it to all of that.
This is the most laid-back I’ve seen him since, well, ever, and his calming energy has had quite the effect on me. The wine probably helps, but I shouldn’t have any more. One last sip, and I set my glass aside.
“Are you done?” he asks.
I nod, eyeing the wineglass. “I think so.”
“Finish it.”
“We have a big day tomorrow, remember?” I shake my head. “And you’re way bigger than me. Your tolerance is higher. You finish it.”
He lifts the glass and eyeballs what’s left in it, swirling the light pink liquid around. “If I do, can I kiss you again?”
My heart squeezes. Doesn’t he already know the answer? “You can kiss me again either way.”
With a grin, he takes a sip from my glass and then offers it to me. I take one last swallow and he sets the glass aside.
Moments later, he’s guiding me up from my chair, his big hands lifting me by the hips into the air. I squeal, and we land on the sofa, where just an hour ago, I sat to keep my distance from him. Now, distance is the last thing on my mind.
His lips find mine again, more desperate and eager than before, his tongue moving over mine in hot, hungry strokes. I grip his shoulders, moaning into his mouth as his hands venture down the front of my robe in search of my belt.
“Can I?” he asks, his voice raspy with need.
I nod, and he tugs the knot loose, unwrapping me slowly, like a fine piece of chocolate he wants to savor. It’s been too long since I’ve been naked with someone, much longer since that someone has looked at me this way, his wild eyes drinking in every inch of my skin.
I’m not wearing any makeup, and my hair is damp on the ends from the tub, but it doesn’t matter. The way Holt looks at me… this is the sexiest I’ve ever felt. When he sinks to his knees, my breath catches as his palms run gently up my thighs.
