Play with Me (With Me in Seattle, #3)(40)

“It’s called strategy, Mr. Football Star.” I bat my eyelashes at him and laugh as his scowl deepens.

“You’ve never played this, have you?”

“Madden Two Thousand Thirty-Four? No.”

“It’s Madden 2013, smart ass.” Now he’s laughing at me. God, he’s fun.

“I’m still kicking your Seattle ass. The guy with your name on the jersey looks nothing like you, by the way.” I pick up my soda and sip from the straw. We are surrounded by junk food. Pizza boxes, chip bags, cookie containers, you name it. It looks like a twelve-year-old’s birthday party exploded in here.

It’s f*cking fun as hell.

“It’s a video game, babe, not a music video.”

I throw a chip at him, hitting him in the head, and he turns to glare at me. “Did you just hit me in the head with a freaking Dorito?”

“No.” I shake my head innocently and back up on the couch as he lays the controller on the coffee table and turns to me.

“Liar.”

“You deserved it, smart ass.”

“I know what you deserve.” He kneels in front of me, grabs my hands and pulls me toward him and then in one swift move, pulls his jersey up over my head. “I don’t think you can borrow this anymore.”

“Fine.” I lean back against the couch again and cross my arms over my naked chest, covering up my breasts. Will’s lips twitch but he holds his smile back and gives me a mock-glare and grips his black shorts at my hips and yanks them down my legs and throws them over his left shoulder.

I think they land in the salsa.

“Those are mine, too,” he murmurs, his eyes glassing over as he sweeps his gaze from my face down my body.

I move to cross my legs, but he holds them still, hands on my thighs, and pushes himself up between them so his pelvis rests against my own and his lips are inches from my face.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks softly.

I shrug, my smart mouth having suddenly left me, and just stare up into Will’s sea-blue eyes.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs and kisses my forehead, my nose, over to my dimple. “I love this dimple. Makes you look so innocent.” He smiles against my cheek and kisses it again. “Of course, I know differently.”

I chuckle and slide my hands up under his t-shirt, over the smooth muscles of his back. “Get naked.”

“I will.” He kisses his way over to my neck and runs his hand down my face to my breast to tease my nipple. I suck in a breath and squirm beneath him.

“Naked,” I repeat but he just chuckles and keeps up the torment, running those hands over my body, those lips down my throat to continue the torture of my nipples. Oh dear God, that feels good.

“Your skin is so damn soft.” He’s on his knees again, kissing down my stomach to my navel where he pays special attention. He grips my hips in his hands, holding onto me, and bites and kisses my stomach, brushes his nose over it, and then kisses it some more.

Jesus, when did my stomach become an erogenous zone?

He suddenly jerks me to the edge of the couch and pushes my thighs wider apart and sits back on his heels, just looking at me.

“So damn beautiful,” he repeats. He raises his hand to my face, his eyes on mine, and runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek, brushes my lower lip with his thumb, and then traces the pad of his index finger down the hollow of my throat, down my sternum, my stomach, over my navel and my pubis.

I can’t move. I’m completely in his trance. For Godsake, we went from me playfully cheating my ass off on a video game to intense sexual tension in the matter of seconds.

Suddenly, he turns around and fishes an ice cube out of an empty soda glass and pushes it into his mouth. His eyes smile up at me before he lowers his head, and very gently, places a kiss right on my metal. His cold lips send a zing through my core and I raise my hips in response.

“Holy shit, that’s cold!”

He chuckles and does it again, but this time he slides down, hollows his cheeks and sucks my lips into his mouth with the cold ice and I about come apart. I grip his hair in my fists and hold him to me but he backs out of my grasp and shakes his head.

“Grip the back of the couch with your hands, babe.”

Huh?

“Why?”

“This is going to get intense for you, and it’ll be even more so if you can’t touch me.” He gently caresses my thigh with his hand. “Trust me.”

I do.

So I grab the couch above my head and watch him. He smiles reassuringly and kisses my thigh, then fishes out another ice cube, but instead of pushing it into his mouth, he spreads my labia with one hand and, eyes on mine, guides the ice from my anus, through my folds, and up to my clit.

“Watch this, Megan.”

When he reaches my piercing, he hangs out there, circling the metal over and over, making it so damn f*cking cold, and then pushes it down against my already over-stimulated nub and my hips come up off the couch. He pushes me back down firmly and gives my clit a reprieve, guiding the ice back down through my lips.

“I love this pink *,” he murmurs, his eyes full of longing and lust.

“It’s rather fond of you, too,” I respond, panting.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he replies sarcastically and reaches for another ice cube.