The Dugout(64)

And when I bend over, ass in his direction to pick something up, he grunts and shifts on the bed. I might be an amateur when it comes to seduction but there is one thing I do know: guys like skin and lots of it, so the more I show it off, the better.

I place the pen that was on the ground back on my desk and in the process, shimmy my camisole down so when I turn around, Carson gets nothing but cleavage in his view.

“Does Disik have anything special planned for your last game of the season?” I ask, sitting on my desk and crossing my leg.

“Are you really going to try and have a conversation looking sexy as fuck?”

I take in my outfit and give him a confused look. “This is just what I wear to bed.”

“Bull . . . shit.” He angles his finger in my direction and makes a come here motion. “Get your ass on this bed right now, Potter.”

“I don’t respond well to demands.” I cross my arms over my chest, hopefully hiding how hard my nipples are . . . but accentuating my cleavage. Just because . . .

“Don’t make me manhandle you. I will come over there and pick you up. Do you want to make this easy or hard?”

Oddly, having him pick me up sounds appealing, but I don’t risk it and hop off the desk, slowly making my way toward the bed. The entire time his eyes are traveling up and down my body.

My workouts in the training room seem to be paying off from the heat in Carson’s eyes.

He makes no attempt to scoot to the other side of the bed, but instead stays dead center giving me little to no space against his broad body.

“Are you going to scoot over?”

“Nope,” he answers with a cocky attitude. “I don’t want any space between us with what I have planned.”

I sit on the very edge. “Oh yeah? And what exactly do you have planned?”

He pulls me down onto the bed so we’re sharing a pillow. “Lots of touching.” His large hand falls to my hip and his thumb curls up the edge of my shirt.

I clear my throat and pretend not to be affected by the smooth and simple placement of his hand. “I had other plans.”

“Oh yeah? Does it involve us naked?”

“No.” I laugh. “I want to play a game.”

His eyes are lazy and seductive when he says, “Yeah, I like my idea better.”

“What if I tell you my game involves touching as well? Does that interest you more?”

He perks up. “I’m listening.”

Such a guy. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

“Okay, how about for every question we answer from each other, we get to touch something.”

“Something?” He chuckles. “How romantic.”

I push at his chest. “You know what I mean. Light caresses, exploration, getting to know each other physically and mentally.”

“Uh-huh. And how far are we allowed to touch?”

“Good question.” I bonk his nose, making him chuckle. “Above the clothes only.”

“What? That’s bullshit. No way. I’m not even wearing a shirt, so how’s that fair?”

“Any exposed skin is up for grabs, anything under clothing can only be touched with the layer of fabric in between. It’s not my fault you were overzealous with ripping your shirt off.”

“With the way you ate up my body with your eyes, I’m guessing it wasn’t a hardship on your end.”

My cheeks flame.

“You know, it’s really fucking adorable how embarrassed you get. There are moments when you put up a front and I see courage in your cute, little body, and then there are moments like now where you’re so shy. I like it a lot.”

Not sure what to say to that. “So, do you want to play?”

“A game where I can touch you—even if it’s over fabric—I’ll take it.” His thumb strokes my hip and I already know this game is going to be glorious torture. “Can I start?”

“Since you’re already touching me, I’m going to say yes.”

He tightens his hold on me. “This right here, gripping your hip, this is boyfriend rights, not part of the game.”

“Are you making up your own rules now?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Universal rules, ask anyone.”

Playing along, I say, “Fine, you start.”

His hand slips higher up my shirt and I stop him. “Hey, question first and above the clothes. Don’t make me sit back on the desk.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says with an obnoxious and affronted tone. So dramatic.

“I would; don’t test me, Stone.”

“Brutal.” He removes his hand and brings it between us, keeping a small distance. “Is your name short for anything?”

“Mildred Marie Potter. I’m named after my grandma. No one ever calls me Mildred though, not even my family. Well, besides Cory.”

“Mildred is a little old school, but it fits you.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Since I answered, I get to have my way with you.”

He puffs his chest out. “My body is yours, touch whatever you want. I heard things down south are really fun to stroke if you want to start there.”

“It’s funny how hopeful you are,” I say, even though my body is already heating from the thought of feeling how hard and big he is. I’m going to save that until I gather more courage. I start at his face and drag the tip of my finger over his scruff and along his carved jawline. “Your face is so handsome,” I say, observing the way his light blue eyes darken with my strokes. “Do you look more like your mom or your dad?”