Play (Stage Dive, #2)(62)

“No. Absolutely not.”

He smiled and shrugged. “There you go.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is. I’m your boyfriend now, which means there’s no room for your hipster admirer. He’ll just have to lick his wounds while we lick other things.” He raised a devilish eyebrow.

My head filled with so many needy questions. A hundred and one ways to beg him for reassurance. No god damn way any of it was getting past my lips. He was so insanely perfect and I’d had him inside of me. My body buzzed with the memories, sliding straight toward overload. I wanted him again. Maybe I should just shackle myself to his ankle and be done with it. This could be the answer.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” I said. “But I needed to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I know. I was being a dick.” He moaned, looked to the heavens. “That enough of an apology?”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I get Reece is part of your life. I’ll try to be nice to him.”

“Thank you.”

His hair was in his face again. Carefully, I tucked some behind his ear and then cupped his cheek.

“Hey, crazy eyes. Operation Fake Girlfriend is off,” he murmured. “In case you were wondering.”

“It is, huh?”

“Way I figure it, we’re together until we decide we’re not together anymore. Let’s not put too much thought into it. Let it sort itself out, yeah?”

It was a sound plan, considering we’d only started sleeping together less than an hour ago. “I approve.”

“Glad to have you on board, Miss Rollins.” He covered my hand with his own, pressing it against his face. “I don’t wanna be unduly crass or any shit like that, but I’m worried about something.”

“What might that be?”

“Your shirt.”

I opened my mouth, shut it. “My shirt?”

“I think it’s chafing you. Subconsciously like.” His eyes were intense, his expression grave.

“My shirt is chafing my subconscious?”

“No, I believe it’s chafing the delicate skin of your nipples and the area around … what’s it called?”

“The areola?”

“Yeah, that bit. ‘Cause it’s all pink and sensitive, you know? It’s delicate, so I believe my concern with regards to the harsh and unyielding nature of your shirt is real important even though you have yet to acknowledge the discomfort it’s causing you.”

“You know you could have been one hell of a salesman.” He was so convincing, I almost felt bad for the soft cotton of my long-sleeved top,. “I’m wearing a bra. But my nipples really appreciate your concern.”

“Yeah, your bra’s in on it too. They’re both against you.”

“No way!” I said. He made it damn hard not to smile.

“I know, right? Thank f*ck I’m here to deal with these things.”

“How about we go upstairs and I take my shirt and bra off, would that ease your mind?”

“I’d definitely feel a lot better if you did that, yes.”

“Well, alrighty then. Race you.” I jumped to my feet, barreling up the stairs, giggling. Mal’s arm came around me from behind, lifting me off my feet, pulling me back up against his chest.

“I win,” he said, and carried me into the apartment where we both won, big-time.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Fingers were playing with me. Clever fingers.

My alarm hadn’t gone off for work yet. It was just before dawn. Sleep, however, wasn’t an option with him stirring me up the way he was. Since when was Mal a morning person? Answer, since he wanted sex.

God bless him for his base desires.

I lay on my stomach with him beside me, the hardness and heat of his body a wonderful thing to wake up to. Ever so gently, he stroked me between my legs. He trailed his knuckles softly back and forth along the seam of my sex. Everything low in me tensed in approval. I arched my pelvis, giving him better access to my *. We’d dragged my mattress out into the living room, away from the destruction of my wooden bed frame, and gone at it again last night.

“You awake?” he asked, voice husky from sleep.

“No.”

He trailed kisses down my spine, making me get all quivery. The graze of his stubble made for a delicious tactile sensory whatever. Yeah, I was still half asleep.

“Okay, don’t mind me. I just need something. Shouldn’t take too long … I’ll try not to disturb you.”

“Mm, thanks.”

His hard-on prodded my thigh. Then a strong hand slid beneath my hips, lifting. “Up,” he said, sliding the soft bulk of a pillow under me. “This is sweet. Anne, really, your ass looks great raised up like this.”

Wet fingers slid around my clit, turning me on like nobody’s business. He circled and stroked and tickled in turn, touching me just right. My thigh muscles tensed, knees digging into the bed. Damn, the man knew what he was doing. I clutched at the sheets, already breathing hard. It would be futile to try and express exactly how much I enjoyed having him touch me. Especially when my brain had shut down for the duration. I moaned in disappointment when he took to kneading my butt cheeks instead, trailing his fingers up and down my thighs.