Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
But you were willing to have a one-night stand with Zane when you met him.
“Thanks for waking me up,” he says.
“Anytime,” I say, hoping this moment never ends. I hope he doesn’t stop holding my shoulders. Maybe he senses my need, since his grip on me strengthens like he can’t let go. He closes his eyes, wincing. When he opens them, his voice is a scrape on the night. “What’s that ocean smell?”
I think I know, but I’ve got to make sure I understand his meaning. “The ocean’s not near here.”
“You. On you. It’s been driving me fucking crazy.”
A spark of hope races down my chest. “It’s my shampoo,” I say. It feels like sharing a secret with a lover.
“I thought it was your aftershave,” he whispers, sounding relieved, as if he’s been hunting for the answer for ages.
My mind is hazy with heat. “That’s Cedar Falls. The scent and the name of the aftershave. The shampoo is something like Ocean Breeze.” My heart beats in my throat, powered by wild lust that has me rambling about inconsequential details.
Zane leans in like he’s coming for a kiss and, God help me, I won’t stop him if he does. But he veers to the right, his lips brushing ever so gently across the shell of my ear, making me groan.
He runs his nose through my hair, inhaling deeply with a murmured mmm.
I think I might be made of liquid everywhere but my dick. That’s an iron spike, and I moan, low and long and unstoppable.
His mouth brushes against the top of my ear. “You on your hands and knees,” he mutters.
My body goes red-hot. “Every night I picture that,” I say, skin burning, pulse surging.
“Every night?” he asks, full of dirty wonder.
“Every night since I met you,” I answer.
The rumble from his throat is feral. “Your hands tied behind your back,” he continues, squeezing my shoulders now.
That. I want that. I need that after dark.
I breathe out hard, dick thumping against my jeans. “My face in the pillow,” I say, taking my turn in this paint-by-numbers game.
“My hand pushing you down…right here,” he says in my ear, easing his grip to let his hand stray to the spot between my shoulder blades. He presses with the tips of his fingers. Hard.
Yes, fucking yes. “You driving into me,” I offer. I won’t stop this scene we’re imagining. I want it too badly.
“Me, taking you apart,” he murmurs.
The feel of his hands, the sound of his breath, the weight of his want—it’s a drug, and I’m lost in the high. “Please,” I say, begging him. I’m ready to say come home with me.
But voices carry to us from beyond the cabana. A woman’s laughter, footsteps moving past, glasses clinking as someone gathers them up. We’re not alone. And we shouldn’t be alone.
I rip apart from him at the same moment he jerks back.
We’re both panting. His face is flushed. Mine burns hot. “I need to drive you back to your hotel,” I say, grasping at the straw of reality. “You have a game tomorrow. You need your sleep.”
After a beat, he nods, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I told myself I’d treat you like a bud.”
Part of me loves that he needed a pep talk before we met up too, and that he laid down rules just like I did before his game tonight. But that’s the part of me that let him smell my hair.
I shake my head, exonerating him. He’s young, barely twenty-five. I’m thirty-two. I should lean on age and wisdom to press the brakes on us. “Don’t be sorry. I let it go too far,” I say. No matter how two-way our attraction is, I need to be the one to stop it. I could lose my job. I could lose this deal for him.
He stands. I do too.
“Maddox?” he asks.
“Yes?”
“Thanks for coming to my game. And for being all…agent-y. I’ll get it together.”
“I’ll get it together too,” I say.
It’s a promise I truly hope we can keep.
6
CRIMINALLY SEXY
Maddox
This car is my prison and my salvation.
I’ve got handcuffs on my baser instincts for the next twenty minutes as I drive Zane to his hotel. I need to use this time to douse the blaze between us, reset us to agent-and-client mode.
“How long have you lived in San Francisco?” I ask. I know the answer—ever since the Dragons called him up after they drafted him out of college. But it’s an impersonal and easy question that shifts to business and away from sex.
“Three years,” Zane answers.
“You want to stay there?” This is a standard agent question. Asking it will remind me who I am—someone who handles his career, not his balls.
“Yeah, my brother lives in Sacramento,” Zane says. “I try to see him a lot. It’s easier with him nearby, especially in the off-season.”