Play with Me (With Me in Seattle, #3)(29)

“How so?”

“Now that I’ve had you, I won’t be able to get enough of you. I think I’m addicted to how you feel, how you sound, and being buried deep inside you.”

I don’t really mind the sound of that at all.

And besides, it’s totally mutual.

I sigh and rest my arm across his chest. Will traces the music inked on my arm with his finger.

“What song is it?” he asks softly.

“I Dare You To Move by Switchfoot.”

“What part of the song is this?”

Startled, I gaze up at him. “You do know me pretty well already, don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t permanently put anything on your body unless it meant something. What lyrics go with this music?” He smiles down at me and kisses my forehead.

I’ve never shared this with anyone.

“I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor.” I whisper and feel Will sigh.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs and drops the subject.

“I like yours too.” I grin up at him and then pinch him.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You never told me you have a tattoo.”

“You never asked.” He hugs me tighter and sweeps his hand down my back to my ass and back up again.

I want to purr like a kitten.

“I get the number eight is your jersey number, but what does the rest mean?” I ask him and trace the number eight on his side. His tattoo is over his ribcage on his right side. It’s the number eight surrounded by lots of little lines and squiggles that don’t seem to make any sense.

“Look closely,” he mutters and raises his arm so I can get a better look.

Holy shit.

“It’s all the players’ signatures?” I ask.

“Yep. It represents my team. I may be the center of it, but I’m surrounded by a whole team of great men and really good players. So I had a board made with the number in the middle and asked all the guys to sign around it, and there it is.”

“Do you add names as teammates come and go?” I ask.

“Yeah. It started with college, and I’ve added the names as the years go by.”

“What if your number changes?” I ask.

“It’s not going to. They retired my number at UW and Seattle will probably do the same when I retire.”

“Big shot football star,” I murmur, earning a light slap on my ass and I grin. I continue tracing it with my fingertips and push up to kiss his chin.

“So you’re not just a pretty face,” I remark sarcastically.

“No, that’s you, babe. You’ve got the pretty face.”

“I’m so not your type.” I roll off him and run my hands down my face.

“What the f*ck does that mean?”

Will rolls on top of me and glares down at me, pissed off.

“It just means that I’m not what most athletes would go for. I’m not tall, blonde and leggy. I’m not arm candy. I’m a rocker chick-turned-nurse. I’m no one special.”

With each word coming out of my mouth I’m pissing him off more.

Why? It’s just the truth.

“Have you heard a word I’ve told you? You are exactly my type. Physically and emotionally. I love this sweet body of yours. I love your dirty mouth. Aside from your crazy hours, I’m proud as f*ck of you for being an awesome nurse and friend to those kids of yours. I don’t care what anyone says, you are who I want.”

He cups my face in his hands. “You are what I want. Just you.”

“I didn’t mean to piss you off, I just…”

“You didn’t just piss me off, honey. You put yourself down, and hurt my feelings. Trust me, if you didn’t interest me, you wouldn’t be here.”

I run my fingers down his face and smile up at him gently. “Okay.”

“Now, I’m hungry.”

“Kitchen sex?” I ask excitedly as he pulls me to my feet and tosses one of his jerseys at me.

“Food first, then yes, if you’re good, I’ll let you have your way with me on the kitchen counter.”

“Yes!”



*



“I never realized how messy kitchen sex is,” I murmur and watch Will fiddle with the shower heads, lowering them so they don’t hit me in the face.

His shower is massive. We could easily host the entire offensive line in here.

“That’s better, come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me gently into the shower. Oh, God, the hot water feels amazing. I glance down to see the remnants of ice cream and chocolate syrup get washed down the drain.

“Here, it’s your fault that I’m sticky. You wash me.” I hand him a washcloth and he lathers it up with my body wash. “Hey, when did my body wash show up here?”

“I bought it to keep here. I’m hoping you’ll be staying here a lot, at least when I’m home.” He smiles down at me and warmth spreads through me. “Of course, you’re welcome here even when I’m not home.”

“I’m happy to stay when you’re home. It seems silly to stay here when you’re gone, given that my place is less than twenty minutes from here. We’ll have to put some of your things at my place too, in case we end up there.”