Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(22)
"Maybe that's because I'm not a pillow,” I reply with a grin, my voice raspy and rough.
She grabs a handful of the blanket and tucks it under her chin, covering her bare chest. "Whatever."
"Someone's a grouch in the morning." I force myself out of bed and stretch my arms above my head, knowing damn well my dick is rock hard, nearly pulsing with how worked up I’ve found myself this morning. Sierra attempts to keep her eyes to herself but fails miserably. Her gaze is narrowed, eyes glazed over with want as she trails them down the tight ridges of my stomach before focusing on the hard, thick length right in front of her. I watch her lips part, still swollen from last night, and crave the feel of them around me. I want my hands in her hair as I fuck her mouth until she gags, forcing her to take as much of me in her mouth as she can, spit dribbling from the corners of her mouth. My palm twitches, desperate to wrap around my shaft and give it a pump or two, suddenly claimed by the thought of her.
“Are you going to move or stand there all day?” she asks smugly, her legs now crossed in front of her.
I blink twice and realize that I’ve been staring at her mouth for a creepy amount of time. “It’s too early for your snark, Sierra.” I clear my throat and pull on a pair of boxers. “There should be something for you to wear in the bin by the bed unless you want to put your dress back on.”
Without giving her a second look, I leave her to get dressed. When I get to the living room, I spot two sock-covered feet dangling from the couch and grin, feeling my blood cool to a normal temperature. I move quietly around the sofa and give them a hard yank. I burst into a fit of laughter when Clayton jumps into the air, terrified and about two second away from snapping.
Hating jump-scares: another one of Clayton’s many quirks.
"Morning," I snicker, falling back in a fluffy maroon armchair across from him. Throwing a menacing glare in my direction, Clay crosses his arms and turns the volume up on the TV. He tries to tune me out but I only speak louder. "Sleep well last night?"
"You're a prick," he replies with a deeply-etched scowl.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did we keep you up or something?" My fake ignorance only pisses him off more as he stands up from the couch and grabs his empty coffee cup from the coffee table. He stomps off to the kitchen before disposing of it in the sink.
Sierra comes walking out of my bedroom a few seconds later, capturing my attention with an uncomfortable cough. Her eyes have a hint of suspicion and curiosity to them as they flick between Clay and I.
I notice Clayton’s jaw slacken when he groans, eyes feasting on the image of her. She’s decided on wearing one of my old hockey shirts and a pair of rolled up sweatpants. The white shirt is ripped and stained from years of wear and tear. It swallows her whole. It’s definitely not what I would have expected her to grab, but I won’t complain. She looks fucking hot in it.
"It should be a sin to look that good in the morning," Clay says in approval, taking the words right from my mouth. Tell me about it, buddy. You have no clue.
She swallows nervously and drops her eyes to the floor, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden attention from the both of us. Something hot and stiff flicks my spine when she starts biting her thumb nail, an anxious habit that I’ve noticed Lana doing a few times when we first met.
I pin Clayton with a sharp look, regardless of the fact that he isn’t nor doesn’t want to pay me any attention.
"Uh, thanks." Her cheeks are flushed and she stares at her toes. I’m not sure if she’s offended by his comment or just not used to receiving them. Either way, I’m immediately not a fan of the way she shut down, her insides nearly completely bare and in clear view. The confidence and sass that I’ve become to associate with this woman is gone, leaving only a nervous girl behind. I feel my eyebrows bunch together.
I’m about to walk towards her when her walls come back up. With a fake smile and a roll of her eyes she says, “I forgot my phone in your room.” Before I have a chance to tell her to drop the act, she’s inside my bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her.
Turning to Clay, I scoff, "Way to go, asshole."
"Me?" he reels back. "I was just being honest. You're the one who left a naked model in your bed alone. You were probably the one that offended her. At this rate, it won't be long before she comes crawling to me looking for a real man."
"Trust me. You couldn't handle a woman like Sierra." My smirk is immediate as I sink into the armchair. The last time Clay tried to score with a girl at Sierra's level was about two years ago, and he was beaten to a pulp by said girl's boyfriend not even twenty minutes afterwards. He claims that the blowjob he got in the bathroom was worth it though, regardless of the fact it was the beginning of a serious life change. He hasn’t pined over anyone since then. I assume that he’s just not interested in fighting over anyone anymore. It would be ridiculous of me to bug him for that. It’s not only guys that like to play games. We just get the brunt of the blame for it.
"I'm starting to think that neither of you can." I turn to my bedroom door and stare at Sierra, lips tugging and a dimple craving to pop. She’s back to her confident self, standing in front of us with a hand on her hip and an easy going smile. She looks just as sexy as she did last night, with the addition of some wild sex-hair that I'm not surprised to find still resting on her shoulders. It's going to take a lot more than a hairbrush to get those knots out.