Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Once I’d showered, I headed back to the condo, promising the guys I’d see them out at the bar when I knew it was a lie. I didn’t want to have to explain myself.
But all I wanted that night was Maven.
I texted her and asked her to come up, and as soon as I opened the door, I pulled her into me, kissing along her neck and collarbone as I worked to undress her.
She didn’t fight me, didn’t insist we go or ask if the guys were waiting on me. She opened like a flower more and more with each sigh, and then we were in my bed, and I lost myself in the present moment with everything that she was.
When we were spent, I watched her from the bed as she washed her face in my bathroom. She had a toothbrush in there, too — and her shampoo was in my shower.
She frowned a little when she caught my gaze in the mirror, turning and looking over her shoulder covered with one of my t-shirts.
“You okay?” she asked with a curious grin.
I swallowed down the truth, shoving Will’s words out of my head before they could echo any louder.
“Never better,” I lied. “Now bring that sweet ass back to bed.”
When she did, I peeled my t-shirt off her body and slid inside her until I felt whole again.
Making a Mess
Maven
The night before we had to travel to Ottawa, I showed up at Vince’s door in nothing but his jersey.
Christmas was just around the corner, and I wanted to give him a gift. Of course, giving him an actual gift would cross over our friends with benefits boundary and head right into relationship territory. So I wrapped myself up in the package he’d been dying to see me in, finding a creative way to have the best of both worlds.
I was barefoot, looking up and down the hall and praying no one would come out of their condos and see me. They might assume I had on shorts underneath, but I didn’t — nor was I wearing a bra or panties. I swallowed down the nerves I still got every time I anticipated being touched by Vince, smirking at the peephole until the moment the door swung open.
As soon as it did, a sturdy hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me inside, and then I was pressed against the door when it closed behind us, and Vince was everywhere.
His hands pinned my hips to the wood, one thigh sliding between mine as he kissed me with a low, deep growl rumbling out of his throat. He slid his hands up to palm my breasts through the jersey next, and I moaned into his mouth, threading my arms around his neck.
“Woman,” he said when he pulled back, his eyes taking in the full sight of me. “You’re wearing my jersey.”
“I am.”
He shook his head, fisting his hands in the fabric as his eyes grew hungrier. “This makes me fucking feral, Mave.”
“I thought it might be good luck,” I said, heating under his stare. “Letting you win a bet the night before we go to Canada.”
He wet his lips. “I did bet that I’d have you in this one day, didn’t I? Past Me was a genius.”
“Maybe it can be a new tradition,” I said, linking my arms around his neck again. “Me wearing your jersey to the games.”
His nostrils flared, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck and bring me into him. “Careful. People might think you’re mine.”
My lips parted when he hovered his just an inch away, my heart thundering in my ears.
“They’ll just think it’s part of the gig,” I assured him, even as it made my chest squeeze painfully around my lungs. “Don’t worry. Your bunnies will only take it as motivation to try harder.”
I didn’t know why the joke fell so flat, why it didn’t land with the sassy bite I intended. It sounded almost… sad, petty, and I shook my head and smiled quickly to cover it.
That’s when I noticed Vince was speckled with clay, and that now, the jersey I wore was, too.
“Shit,” he said, following my gaze and looking down at his hands. “I’m sorry, I ruined it.”
“Or did you make it better?” I asked, thumbing over one of the places where his fingerprints were etched in a rust orange clay against the white jersey fabric. I smiled up at him next. “Are you making something?”
He shrugged, nodding to where he’d left a heap of clay wet and ready to be molded on the wheel. “Not yet. Just… fucking around.”
“Stress relief before the big game?”
He swallowed. “Something like that.”
I knew there was a lot riding on this trip. The Ottawa Otters were currently first in our division, and everyone assumed we were flying up to get our asses handed to us. They’d beat us in a shutout when they came to Tampa earlier in the season, and the Ospreys wanted a redemption game.