Risky Play (Red Card #1)(54)

She gulped, and her wide-eyed gaze left mine as if she was afraid to stare too long, afraid to look too hopeful. “Do you really think you should say things like that to me? Might give me the wrong idea.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

She lifted a shoulder as I ran the soap down her belly. “That you want to keep me.”

I knelt in front of her and pressed my face between her thighs, whispering against her slick, heated skin. “Consider yourself kept.”

When I looked up, her breath was coming out in harsh gasps like she was already that out of control just from the buzz of my mouth.

I gripped the sides of her thighs, dug my fingers into her flesh, and tugged her legs apart.

Her hands fell to my shoulders for balance. “Slade?”

“Mack?” I winked up at her. “Hold on tight.”

“Afraid I’m going to come apart all over your head or something?”

“Afraid?” I repeated. “No, I’m counting on it, in three, two—”

She tasted like she was already mine.

Don’t ask me how I knew it.

But a man doesn’t forget his first taste.

A man doesn’t forget the way a woman responds to his lips, his tongue, the way her body heavily rested against my mouth with each lick. The way she moaned without even realizing she was moaning. The way she braced one hand against my shoulder, the other in my hair, pulling, directing, loving the ride I was taking her on as her thighs quivered.

Steam billowed around us as I cupped her rounded ass and jerked her against my mouth, opening to receive her, ready to drink her dry and stay there forever.

“Yes, that, just like that,” she panted, her body giving out. And I took it all, every ounce she had, and realized I wouldn’t survive leaving her a second time without losing my mind—my soul—my heart.

And for the first time since my father’s death.

I looked forward to the idea of being lost in something other than my own grief.

Being lost in her.





Chapter Forty

SLADE

She couldn’t walk.

I thought she was just trying to make me puff out my chest and pound it a bit while we walked into the country club.

No.

Not the case.

She was walking funny, and I hadn’t even been inside her again.

I smirked and then squeezed her hand. “My mouth made you stumble—I can’t wait to feel your thighs clench around my—”

“Dad!” she blurted loudly, cheeks flushed. “You look . . .” Another gulp and stumble. “Great.”

He frowned. “Have you been sleeping?”

“She’s sleeping just fine,” I interrupted and held out my hand. “Slade Rodriguez.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ah, the aggressive one.” He didn’t seem impressed as he looked me up and down, taking my measure as though I were an unfamiliar insect invading one of his vineyards. “Alton told me all about you.”

Mack paled. “You guys talk more than—” She stopped herself but I could tell she was angry, hurting.

With a sigh, I forced a smile I wasn’t feeling, and only because I knew that Mack needed support and would hate herself if she didn’t fix whatever had gone wrong between her and her dad. “Should we sit down?”

Everyone was seated around a circular table, a few bottles of wine were in the middle, and the plates were already set out in front of each chair.

Her mother stood and shook my hand, then pulled Mack into her arms and whispered something in her ear.

Mack quieted. “No, I don’t understand.”

“Not here.” Her mother’s smile was bright as she turned her attention to me. “So, I hear you play soccer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I put on my best commercial smile and helped Mack into her seat, then took mine. “I just moved here from across the pond.”

“You don’t have much of an accent,” her father said. I loved it when people like him pointed out the obvious: you’re not wearing shoes, you don’t look like a soccer star, shouldn’t you be taller?

I gritted my teeth. So far things were not going how I’d planned. I could usually charm the silver off a coin. “Yes, well, my mother’s American. I spent a lot of time in the States.”

They both nodded as if that explained everything.

I turned to Mack, who’d suddenly gone motionless. “Alton.”

Seriously? This guy again? He needed a warning alarm! I watched as he moved to sit down next to us.

His hair was slicked back, his pants were fucking ironed and starched to death, and his button-up went all the way up to the top button—he looked like a tool. I’d never wanted to punch someone so bad in my entire life.

One-testicled piece of shit probably didn’t even know what a G-spot was.

I made a mental note to show Mack later—without the watchful eyes of her parents scrutinizing us—and glared at Alton as harshly as I could.

“Mack, don’t make a scene. You’re obviously still upset over what Alton said. I brought him here to apologize to you.”

Good thing I’d invited myself.

I cleared my throat. “Did he actually tell you what he said?”

Alton sat straight, hands in his lap. His eyes roamed over the table before he answered. “I don’t believe it’s appropriate for polite company.”