Player(66)

I shook my head, looked down my warm cheeks. Happily warm. But he couldn’t have meant it.

I didn’t even have to say it out loud. He knew. The air shifted, tightened. When he breathed, he breathed me into him.

“Every curve,” he said, his hand skating down my arm. “Even the ones you hate.” He traced the back of my arm, the flesh on my ribs that rolled just once. I flinched involuntarily. “You see it as a flaw. I see it as honest. It’s you. And I want you just as you are. Every tiny freckle on your nose. Every curl on your head. Every soft place on your body. You call them flaws. I call it a signature. Because there is no one like you, not in the whole world. And I will love every curve until you realize you love them, too.”

I couldn’t speak, and I didn’t have to. My lips crashed against his, my soft body against his hard one, our arms locked, my legs around his waist. There was no space. No air. Nothing in the universe but me and Sam and the words he’d etched upon my heart.

He lay back, taking me with him, twisting to put himself on top of me. Down my body he roamed, his hands leading the charge and his lips in their wake. Down my stomach, over my hips, his fingers hooked into my panties and slid them down my legs until they were gone.

His hands had an agenda, first to bring my thighs together, the action twisting my waist, turning my hips so one pointed at the ceiling. With his eyes between my legs, those hands trailed up the backs of my leg, thumbed the slick center of me. Without looking up, he knelt, disappeared behind my ass but for his hand gripping my hip. For a split second of anticipation, that was the only place we touched.

A humid breath against my waiting center was my only warning.

The heat of his mouth against the heat of me was the sweetest pleasure, their softness and slickness equal, though mine lay waiting and his sought. It sought every furrow, every crease, every ridge and every valley. It sought the dark places, sought the swollen, aching peaks. A moan, a rumbling sound that touched the tip of me, commanding attention I was helpless to deny.

His face nestled deeper. I was barely cognizant of the fact that his nose was dangerously close to my ass, and even that realization was dismissed without a second thought. He was far too into what he was doing to seem bothered. In fact, he moved deeper still, his tongue sliding into me, reaching for the depths of my body.

A whimper from my lips. A noisy breath from his nose. His fingers squeezing my ass hard enough to sting, pulling to separate my cheeks, garnering him more access. And then he was turning me, twisting me again to put me on my knees, climbing up behind me, his face buried in the split of my body.

He backed away, panting. I laid with my chest pressed against the bed, looking back at him over my shoulder, up the line of my back and the heart-shaped curves of my ass as he palmed my cheeks, squeezed them, spread them. Licked his beautiful lips and lowered his body. Drew a line up the center of me with his hot mouth. Closed his eyes, his midnight lashes on his cheeks, taking his pleasure just as he’d said he would, giving me pleasure as he’d promised.

My lids fluttered closed, my breath shallow, my face turning into the sheets to burrow, needing pressure, needing to move, needing more. I was empty, achingly empty. His name on my lips, an unbidden plea.

With a final, deliberate, slow lick up the line of my center, his mouth disappeared and his hands along with them. I heard the clink of metal, a zing of his zipper. I willed my drunken lids to open as I rolled over, caught sight of him rummaging in his nightstand. The silver packet in his tan fingers. The open V of his pants. And then my eyes were wide open and hungry, watching him as he dropped his pants, taking in every shadow of his body. The indentation of his hard ass. The fluttering muscles over his ribs. The channel of his hips, hard and muscular. The dark thatch of hair just down and between.

His cock in his hand.

The condom in the other.

His fist closing over his crown, stroking his shaft.

His eyes meeting mine.

Flashes of motion like flickering heartbeats. And then he was crawling into bed with me, reaching me first with his lips, then with his hands, seeking nothing more than to hold me to him, those hands splayed across my back with gentle demand. His legs twined with mine, his thigh nestled at the point where my thighs met. And for a moment—one long, hot moment—that was exactly enough.

But our bodies wanted more, our hips searching for what only the other had. I moved up his body to gain access, spreading my legs to give him all the room he needed.

He took control, placing me flat on my back, spreading my thighs with his knees. He gripped his base, thumb extended to guide his crown to the split of my swollen lips. Between them he slid without breaching me, drawing his cock up the line, against my clit, down again, hovering over me all the while. Our faces were turned down, watching him toy with me.

And then he brought his lips to mine. The kiss seared me from the place our lips touched, through my heart, and down to the point our bodies would join, a kiss barely containing the anticipation, a kiss out of our control.

When he broke away, our eyes locked. His crown found the dip. His hips flexed. And he slipped into me slowly, so slowly, not stopping until he filled me completely.

Neither of us moved beyond the thundering of our hearts and the heaving of our lungs. Our gaze never shifted, his arms bracketing my head never tensing, his fingers in my hair still as stone.

And then he kissed me, pumping his hips. We swallowed each other’s moans, the connection liberating, the slow grind of his body as he filled me again gave me the pressure I’d needed so desperately.