Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(50)

“What were you thinking?” he whispered as he trailed hot, lingering kisses down the side of my neck.

“Hmm? What?”

He gripped my hips tight and turned me around to face him, his eyes drilled into me with fury. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I gasped. “I wasn’t really thinking, thinking wasn’t really part of the scenario when I was naked beneath you.”

“Anyone could have found us. Your reputation—” He held me tight, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that took my breath away. “I don’t give a fuck about me, I care about you. Next time you decide to push me past my self-control, we need to be alone, unless you want the world to believe the worst about you, and Parker, I don’t think I would survive that. I know I wouldn’t. I could live with a lot of things, but people not seeing who you truly are because they’re so busy judging actions they don’t understand—I will not, would not, handle that well. I would rip apart every newspaper, every magazine article. I’d torch the world until they saw your truth, your beauty, your heart.”

Tears filled my eyes. “And I wouldn’t let you.”

“I would try.”

“I’d leave before you ruined yourself over me,” I whispered sadly. “But the fact that you’d be willing to do it makes me want to cry, and nobody should cry after sex. It’s weird.”

“So weird,” he agreed while I quickly swiped my cheeks and smiled. “But understandable.”

“Maybe.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t like being emotional.”

“Nooooo,” he teased. “Really? I had no idea.”

I smacked him on the shoulder.

“Violence is more your answer. I’m surprised you didn’t tie me to that Buddha sculpture with a piece of rope licorice, ride me, and call me bitch.”

I burst out laughing. “You are such an asshole!”

He kissed me.

Once, twice.

I lost count of the heated kisses in his living room, in his house, in his home.

I jumped, wrapped my arms around his neck, and deepened the kiss while he slid his hands up my thighs, gripping my bare ass as he slowly walked us past the guest room.

To his bed.

“As promised,” he whispered against the crook of my neck. “Now what?”

“Now,” I exhaled, taking in his bedroom. He had a fireplace in the corner by the master bathroom you could tell he was still remodeling. A flat-screen hung on the wall, and pictures and decorations added to an aesthetically beautiful masculine bedroom that made me think about Pier 1 and campfires. “Now we test out this . . .” I reached for his bed, just to touch the chocolate duvet, but his hands were on me already, lifting me into the air and dropping me back on the mattress as he started unbuttoning his shirt.

I watched him, licking my lips as he shrugged out of the shirt. The man’s body was . . . well, I wanted to lick every single rivet of muscle, I wanted to run my mouth down his six-pack and then see how many licks it would take to travel to my final destination.

His smug grin told me he knew, oh he knew how sexy he was, how overwhelming it was when all I saw was muscular, tight skin I wanted to rake my fingernails over to leave a mark and claim him as mine.

“Not old . . .” I found myself saying, my voice coming out hoarsely. “Just a very built man.”

“Not old,” he agreed, reaching for the button of his trousers. “Needy, though, I’m very needy. I don’t think you realize how many times I’ve stopped outside your door, and yet when I say it out loud . . .”

“Sounds creepy, a bit. Yeah.” I laughed and then grasped his pants and tugged him closer. I could see every hard inch of him straining toward me, teasing me. “I would have let you in.”

“What?” His eyes were lazily focused on me as I slowly ran my hands down his hips, touching the skin there, running my fingers in slow circles while he let out a moan.

“I would have let you in,” I said honestly. “Though you would have had to leave the whistle at the door.”

He choked out a laugh and then groaned. “Your hands, they feel so good . . .”

“I wanted this,” I confessed without looking at him. “I wanted us.”

“Now that you have this . . . us”—he cupped my face—“what are you going to do?”

I grinned up at him. “I’m a taker.”

“I like that.”

“And right now . . .” Other than getting taken advantage of by my coach and then sleeping with a boyfriend in college, I was lacking in sexual experience. But it didn’t matter. It was shocking to my very core that I could look at Matt and feel like I was everything to him, like this meant something. The look on his face expressed everything his words hadn’t yet said. He cared, he wanted, he wanted me just as bad as I did him. I was so damn afraid and he made me brave. He made me want to spend endless hours naked, longing, licking. And it was all because he cared, he gave me hope, he was a partner. An equal. . . . “Right now, I want to taste you like you tasted me.”

“Whatever you want,” he grated. “I’ll give it to you.”

“Whatever I want?” I teased.

“Everything.” His face sobered. “Everything.”