Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(7)

"Oh you think you're such a big man. Too much for little old me, right? I'd eat you for breakfast."

"If you let me try eating you, you won't want to."

"Oh, and if I let you take me to bed now, what would you do to me?"

"I'd read you poetry and we'd make s'mores."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Trust me, after I'm done with you, we'll need s'mores. Baby, you'll be on fire."

"That was a little better than the 'hold it against me' line. You're improving. Perhaps in fifty years a girl might actually kiss you."

"I think you're going to kiss me right now."

I look up at him looking down at me. He does have inviting lips, and a hint of stubble on his chin that I think would feel very good scratching my neck. My pulse quickens at the thought. I find myself staring at him again, and he stares back. He's going to do it. We're going to kiss.



Jason



Yeah. I need to kiss her. Badly.

This close, I can smell her. Anastasia's scent is exactly what I would expect it to be—sweet and light, like berries and salt, if salt has a smell. She smells like a warm day on the beach, like cake, like a dozen pleasant memories all wrapped up in one. I can't help it, I duck my chin down and sniff her hair and the scent floods my lungs like a drug, burning hot. I f*cking need her.

Anastasia looks at me with mismatched bedroom eyes and flexes her body, grinding against me, her lips parted in a sinful suggestion. I see a hint of her little pink tongue as she grinds against my cock, and I want to shove inside her and explode right now. I lean down to kiss her and just take a taste of her lips, but she turns aside, and I brush her cheek with my chin instead. It makes me even harder. Her lips tremble in a tight, playful smirk, like she's laughing at some secret joke.

As the music changes tempo, we sway together. Her eyes grow lidded, going half-closed, and she leans up, lips open and ready as her hands grip my sides, her nails raking down my flanks over my shirt like she's going to claw it open.

Her eyes widen as I grab a double handful of her firm ass, and she digs her nails in harder, in challenge. My hands slide up her back and catch her top for a moment, and I feel a hint of silky-smooth skin against my fingers before it falls back down. Her hands spread wide across my chest, and she digs her fingertips into my muscle, and her hot breath washes over my chin.

We writhe together, wrapped up in the heat of the music. I almost kiss her once, twice, but she pulls away, mischief sparkling in her otherworldly eyes. She spins in my grip and grinds her ass on my dick, and I take her hips and pull her to me, driving against her. Fuck, even her back is sexy.

My hands almost reach her chest before she pushes my wrists down and holds my palms against her stomach. Her body flexes under my grip as she undulates against me, her back rubbing against my chest as her rump rubs against my throbbing cock, and it's like I swallowed the sun and it's burning through my veins all around my body.

I have to have this girl. I have to.

"Let's get out of here."

She turns me around, suddenly holding me at arm's length with her hands on my chest. I rest my forearms on her shoulders as she gropes me. I flex my muscles under her grip, and I swear I can hear her getting wet as she gasps a soft breath through her pursed lips.

"Get out of here and go where?"

"All the way," I say with a smirk.

Her head snaps back. She laughs a little, but there's a sadness to it. Her expression changes, like she just remembered something she was trying to forget.

"I can't," she says, suddenly and sharply.

"Princess," I murmur, pulling her close to me again. "I think you can."

She grinds against me in a shuddering motion like she can barely control herself.

"You do not understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I'm not allowed…."

"Come with me."

Anastasia's eyelids flutter and a red flush creeps up her face until she's a bright pink. She licks her lips, and they start to press into the opening sound of a yes.

Then the door to the bar bangs open, just as "I Will Survive" starts up on the jukebox.

You have to be f*cking kidding me.



Ana



The music machine stops and starts a new song. Jason freezes, turning me aside, putting his body between me and the door. Dee rushes over and grabs my arm, but Jason stops her.

He yanks up my hood and shoves my glasses at me.

"Get her out the back," he tells Dee. "Go, now."

Standing in the doorway is a tall, lean man in athletic warmup pants and a tight brown t-shirt. As he strides into the bar, several large men pile in behind him, all wearing brown.

The tall man has jet-black hair in a ponytail, dark eyes, and a smashed-in nose that looks like it's been broken more than once.

"Hey, Powell. Thought I'd find you here."

"Leave, Ransom. People are trying to have a good time."

Dee tugs my arm, stating to pull me toward bar.

"You have a back door?" she says to the bartender.

He looks at her. "It's in the back," he says, exasperated.

Then he ducks under the bar.

I think this is going to be bad.