Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(33)

I lace my fingers together. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

He blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Especially from you. You’re not going to break my heart, Callahan.” I lean in. Being in the cab of an old truck with him, it’s more apparent than ever just how big he is—even underneath his sweatshirt, his shoulders look nearly as broad as they do when he’s wearing his pads, and his dark wash jeans show off his muscular thighs. The column of his neck looks downright lickable. If he rejects me again, aside from living with the embarrassment, I’m going to spend a lot of time trying—and likely failing—to get him out of my fantasies. “I know what I want.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know, Red. I think you’re underestimating my charm.”

“Or perhaps you’re overestimating it,” I shoot back. “Look, if you don’t want me, just say so. I’ll get over it. But if you said no last night just because you want to protect me against whatever you think is going to happen, you’re not listening to me. I don’t want a relationship right now. I just want to explore a little.”

“Which is fine, but that doesn’t change the fact your father is my coach.” He takes off his backwards baseball cap and sets it on the dashboard, running a hand through his hair.

I wet my lips; his hands are so big. When I became so desperate that a nice pair of hands does me in, I have no idea. “He’s not going to find out.” I laugh shortly. “And trust me, if he does, he’ll have no trouble believing it was all my idea, and you just went along with it.”

“Why?”

I smile wryly. “Doesn’t matter. So, which is it? Was I really such a bad hookup?”

The bark of laughter he lets out startles me. “Sweetheart, nothing about that was bad except the fact it had to end,” he says; there’s a low note in his voice that makes my belly quiver. “I’d have spent forever with you in that closet, dust bunnies and all.”

It’s taking a massive amount of effort to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. “Then take me through my list.” I lean closer, putting my hand on his thigh. His gaze darts down, taking in the gesture. I swallow my nerves and press my lips to his jaw. Near his mouth, but not quite close enough to count as a proper kiss. “Keep yourself relaxed and playing well with me. Let me be good for you.”

He fists his hand in my hair, pulling me into a kiss—the kind that leaves me breathless, my toes curling. He bites on my lower lip, dragging out the friction before pulling away. “Quid pro quo?”

“Friends.” I kiss him again; he fumbles for the seat control and shoves it back, giving me enough space to slide into his lap. “Friends who fuck.”

“Dangerous,” he murmurs. “You’re playing with fire, Red.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

“Can’t deny it.” He takes my hand in his, pressing it against the bulge in his jeans to emphasize his answer. He’s hard as a rock. I grin, pressing another kiss to his lips as I massage his cock through the fabric. His breath hitches, making my core clench. It feels good to know I can affect him too; that even though he has all the experience, I have my own kind of power.

“What do you say?”

He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Okay,” he says. “Friends with benefits.”

“Friends with an agenda.”

“You are rather organized.”

I bite my lip deliberately as I continue to work my hand over his pants. “You know what’s next.”

He strokes across my bottom lip. I open my mouth, biting down on his thumb. First a closet, now a truck cab. It’s not a picture-perfect moment, but it’s exactly how I want it.

“Here?” he says.

I play with the button on his jeans. Someone could walk by and see, but we’re in a quiet corner of the lot. “Why not?”

He grips my wrist, stilling my hand. When he speaks, his voice is rougher. I nearly tremble from the intensity of his gaze; even though I’m still bundled up, I feel exposed, like he just ripped my clothes off. “Back seat. I want to see your tits.”

I climb into the back and pull off my hat and sweater, tossing both aside, and kick off my boots. I’m wearing one of my nicest bralettes underneath; it’s light blue like the panties that he complimented last time. Now, I shiver for real. Even with the heat on, it’s not exactly toasty in here. He joins me in the backseat, shirtless too, and stops me when I reach around to unhook the bralette.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He plucks at my hardened nipples through the lace, dragging a moan from my throat. “Such pretty little tits. I’ve been imagining these, Red.”

I lean into him, reaching out my hand to trace down his chest. He has a couple of tattoos; the detailed sword I noticed earlier, plus an artful rendering of a Celtic knot over his heart. I want to trace over the thick black lines with my tongue. He continues to tease me through the fabric for a moment before he just pulls my tits out of the bralette, rather than taking it off; I moan as his big, rough hands each cup one and squeeze. He kisses me, running his tongue over mine.

“Do your panties match?” he says as he pulls back. “You strike me as that sort of girl.”

I unbutton my jeans and tug them down my thighs. He helps me get them off completely, so I’m sitting on the leather seat in a tiny, wet scrap of fabric. Dark blue this time. He rubs his knuckles over the front of my panties. “Pretty.”