Player(76)

“It’s you, everything about you. I want…I want so much. I want to earn your smiles, your laughter. Your heart. Your pleasure is my pleasure. I didn’t know that your happiness would be my own, too. There’s so much I didn’t know.”

Softly, she laughed. “And here I thought you were supposed to be teaching me.”

I climbed one step, bringing me level with her lips. “Oh, no. It was you who were teaching me all along.”

And before she could speak, I pressed my lips to her sweeter ones, breathed her in for a moment. Just a moment. Felt the curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin, the beat of her heart.

Up the stairs of my building we climbed. I opened the door, and she strode in, lazily stripping off her coat. She tossed it on the back of the couch and crossed her arms over her waist, grabbing handfuls of her shirt. With a glance over her shoulder and a seductive smile in my direction, her hands rose, her shirt rising with it, exposing first the curve of her waist, then her ribs, her shoulder blades. Her curly hair spilled out of the neck, brushing her shoulders. And then she tossed it away.

She never stopped walking.

I shed my jacket, my shoes, my shirt, following the trail of her clothes. She disappeared into the dark portal of my doorframe.

When I passed into the darkness, I reached for the light. And when the bulbs of my lamps flared, there she was.

She sat perched on the end of my bed, her eyes bottomless and lips wet. She was constructed solely of smooth, tan curves, shoulder and arms, breasts and hips, thigh to knee to calf to the tip of every round toe. Shadows sank into every valley, light brushed every peak.

And her eyes, those endless eyes, called me, whispered my name.

I strode across the room, caught her face in my hands, felt the silky strands of her hair against my knuckles, her skin against my fingertips. For a moment, I was a captive despite holding her in my palms.

And then I kissed her.

The girl who had hidden her body from me had gone, replaced by a woman who wanted to be seen. Those places she hated were forgotten in the safety of my arms—she knew I wouldn’t betray her. She knew I wouldn’t make her feel anything but perfect and desired.

Because that was the truth. And my honesty had affected her, changed her. Made her a believer.

She sighed into my mouth, her hands working my belt open, then my pants down, reaching for me as I stepped out of them. Her fingers trailed the length of me, the tip of me. I leaned into her. She broke the kiss to sigh against my swollen lips.

“Lie down,” she whispered, and I did, though not before kissing her again and not without taking her with me.

She lay a trail of wet, slow kisses down my chest, her fingers brushing my nipples. Down further, down the planes of my abs to the ridge of my hips. Her hands roamed, touching, teasing, never the place where I wanted her most. That place was aware of every fringe touch—a lock of her hair brushing my length, the curve of her cheek skimming the sensitive skin of my crown, the tip of her nose as she kissed the eager skin so low between my hips.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it, she wrapped her fingers around my shaft and stroked. Her face rose, her lips parting, her tongue darting out to slick them. I gathered her hair, cupped the back of her head, watched her, lashes down, nose small, mouth open as she descended. Hot and wet, soft and slick—the sensation overwhelmed me, amplified by the sight of my cock disappearing into her, inch by inch.

Her moan sent a vibration down my shaft and deep into my body.

No, this was not the same girl who had asked me to kiss her so she’d know the good from the bad. This wasn’t the girl who hadn’t dated and had never had an orgasm by a man. This was a new being altogether, one who touched me with all the confidence of a woman who knew what she wanted and what she needed.

And she knew exactly how to get it.

I lay there underneath her, holding her hair, trying to breathe, trying to hang on. She picked up her pace, bringing me up with her, my ass flexed and hips forward. She slowed, let me wait for only a breath before bringing me to the edge again.

I drew my hips away, held her head where it was, exiting her mouth with a quiet pop. I breathed her name, and she smiled, climbing up my body at my command.

She paused when she reached my lips to kiss me, still on all fours instead of spread across me. I grabbed her ass and squeezed, telling her where I wanted her, but instead of acquiescing, she broke the kiss and reached for my nightstand.

Her breasts were in my face, and I took the invitation, pressing them into each other, testing their weight, bringing the peaked tip of one to my lips, my mouth, my tongue. She sucked in a breath at the contact, lowering her hips enough that I could reach between her legs and stroke her.

But the connection was brief. She backed up, rose up on her knees, her hands tearing open a condom, her fingers on my cock, the condom rolling on. And I watched her, letting her do what she would. Because that was what she wanted.

And what she wanted, I wanted.

My hands shifted on her thighs, my eyes locked on the rippling flesh at the apex. She guided me, stood me upright, stroked herself with my tip. And she spread those legs, those glorious fucking thighs, and sank onto me, not stopping until she was flesh to flesh against me.

I pulsed inside her. She flexed in answer.

Her body was a wave, her palms resting on my chest, her breasts caught in the cage of her arms.

I watched, jaw clenched and hips high.