Playing Hard to Get(61)

I land on the mattress with a bounce, sitting up so I’m perched on the edge of the bed. I watch as he tears off his hoodie, revealing that he wasn’t wearing a T-shirt underneath. Meaning, I’m staring at nothing but pure, defined muscle.

My mouth goes dry as I take him in. His broad, smooth shoulders and his defined pecs. There’s a tiny bit of golden-brown hair between them that matches the color on his head, and a tease of a trail that leads from his navel and disappears beyond the waistband of his jeans.

And then there are his abs.

Holy. Shit.

“You’ve got a six-pack.”

He glances down at himself before meeting my gaze once more. “It’s actually an eight-pack, but yeah.”

Good lord.

“I cannot compete.” I wave a hand toward him, my fingers wiggling in the air. “With this.”

“What do you mean?”

I have stretchmarks and a hint of cellulite on the back of my thighs. Sometimes after I eat, I get bloated, and I look like I’m pregnant. Bryan even asked me that once the summer after our freshman year in college, after we went and had all-you-can-eat pasta at a local Italian restaurant one night for dinner. The panic in his eyes and his voice would’ve been amusing, if I hadn’t felt so freaking insulted.

“I don’t work out,” is all I say, rather than going on a word-vomit rant about my lack of muscles and the fact that I eat too much, thanks to my sweet tooth.

“You look pretty damn good to me.” He scans me from head to toe, and even in my distress, my skin blooms with heat at the hunger in his gaze.

“I have cellu—”

He cuts me off. “You really think I’m checking for flaws when I finally get you naked?”

His question leaves me flustered, which I think is all part of his plan. He really wants to get me naked? “Maybe—”

“No.” He shakes his head, his voice hard. “I don’t.”

Well. I can’t argue with that.

He’s on me in seconds, gently pushing me backwards so I’m lying on the bed. He straddles my hips, his face above mine, his hands resting on either side of my head. I’m completely surrounded by him, all of that delicious heat and those hard muscles, his gaze zeroed in on me and no one else, and it’s overwhelming, having Knox Maguire singularly focused on me.

On top of me.

“When I get you naked, Joanna, all I care about is seeing every inch of you. Touching your beautiful body.” He kisses my neck, his lips warm and damp. I close my eyes, lost in the sensations his busy mouth stirs within me.

I rest my hands against his shoulders, tipping my head back, swallowing hard when that mouth shifts lower, kissing across my collarbone. “You can’t get me naked.”

“Why the fuck not?” He murmurs the words against the tops of my breasts, his tongue dipping into my cleavage.

“It goes against your vow.” My voice is weak. So is my resolve. It will take nothing for him to talk me into doing whatever he wants.

His mouth settles on mine and he inhales, both of his lips catching around my top lip, tugging lightly. “The celibacy shit is stupid.”

Before I can say a word, he deepens the kiss, leaning his weight more fully on me, pressing me into the mattress. He’s heavy, but it feels good. He’s solid. Real.

Sexy.

I wrap my arms around his neck, sinking my fingers into his hair, stroking the soft strands. I can’t stop touching his hair. It’s so soft compared to the rest of him. Soft as his lips, which are currently destroying me, one kiss at a time. I spread my legs wider, allowing him to settle more firmly against me, and I can feel his erection nudge against my stomach.

It’s a thrill, knowing I make him hard. Knowing that he’s hard for me. I’m not the first woman to be in Knox’s bed, definitely not the first one to give him an erection—I’m not that delusional.

But I’m pretty sure I’m the first one he can’t stop thinking about. The one he can’t get enough of.

The one he comes back to, again and again.

He slips his hand beneath my shirt, his fingers traveling up higher until they’re curving over the front of my bra. Brushing across one breast, then the other, feathering up and down over my hardening nipples. His mouth never leaves mine as he keeps touching me, his tongue thrusting in the same rhythm as his hips as he rocks against me. I spread my legs wider, winding them around his hips, desperate for more friction, more everything. My pants are thin, and my core on fire because I can feel all of him. He’s thick and long, nudging against my pussy every time he pushes forward.

“We should take this off.” He tugs on the hem of my shirt. Well, Nat’s shirt.

I drop my arms from his neck, raising them above my head to help with the removal of said shirt. He lifts up, staring down at me with heated eyes and swollen lips. Carefully, downright reverently, he pushes my shirt up. High. Higher. Until my bra is exposed and the fabric is bunched beneath my neck, reminding me of how he shoved my bra up earlier in the meeting room at the library.

That feels like a lifetime ago, and it was only earlier this afternoon.

“Lift up,” he murmurs, his voice dark and commanding, and I do as he says, throbbing between my legs at the hot blast of lust I see in his gaze.

He whips the shirt over my head, tossing it over his shoulder and making me smile at the casual way he threw it.