Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, and I open for him, sucking on his tongue.
Yes, God, yes.
Everything feels so good. So right. And I want so much more. I want everything I’ve never had, and I want it with him.
It’s so wrong, so risky. We could get caught any second. This would be the scandal of sports scandals. I don’t want negative attention this early in my career, especially with my new team. I should focus on what’s at stake with fans and the Renegades . . .
And I still can’t break away from Jason.
Except, I have to say something. I wrench my mouth from his, panting desperately. “My team knows I’m bi,” I say. “I told them last night.”
He blinks. Then smiles. “Good for you,” he says, but I can tell he’s trying to keep some excitement in check. Maybe some relief.
I don’t want to dwell on coming out. I want to steal another few seconds of his forbidden touch. I grab his hips again.
“God, why do you have to kiss so good?” I grunt.
His smile goes crooked. “Can’t help it. Your mouth is just sooo . . .” He stares savagely at me, licking his lips.
Yeah, he doesn’t have to finish that sentence. The rest is etched in his eyes, glimmering with heat.
But he does anyway, sliding a thumb over my top lip, then whispering, “Fuckable.”
I might come in my pants.
“More,” I croak. It’s the only word I can form when I’m this consumed.
Jason answers my call with a bruising kiss, full of teeth and tongue and the promise of late nights and relentless pleasure. He kisses like he doesn’t play games in bed. Like he craves a raw, passionate connection. His hands slide up my body and then clasp my face hard.
We grind and press.
My breath comes hot and fast as he kisses me even harder.
I should stop. I’ll be whisker-burned and bruised, but I don’t want this incendiary kiss to ever end.
But then I hear a door pushed open nearby. It takes a few seconds for the noise to register, but when it does, I jump away from Jason like I’ve been burned.
The footfalls descend and fade, but they’re a wake-up call.
We’re two high-profile athletes playing on opposing teams in a football-obsessed city. This would be raw meat for the gossip blogs.
“We can’t do this,” I mutter.
Jason nods too. “I know. We’re rivals.”
“And I have to go,” I say, but I can barely move. I don’t want to move. I want to tackle him, pin him down. I want him to tackle me, pin me down.
His eyes are flames, and he stares at me like no one ever has. I’ve never felt this wanted. It’s unreal and addictive.
But I’m going to be late for Ian. “I should go,” I say again.
He tugs at my shirt, gripping the fabric, dragging my mouth to his once more. He brushes his lips over mine in a hot scorch of a kiss. “We’re cool?”
I kiss him back, barely able to think. But when I let go, I answer: “We’re cool.”
But cool isn’t the word I’d use to describe Jason McKay.
More like white-hot.
11
I’VE GOT HIS NUMBER
Jason
The second I pull into my garage and cut the engine, I call my brother.
He answers right away. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say as I unlock the door to my house and bound up the steps. “Just wanted to say hi.”
“Aww, you miss me already, and it’s been less than twenty-four hours,” he says before a siren drowns out his voice.
“Are you going to a new restaurant?” I ask when the sounds of the city lessen.
“Emerson and I are on our way to do a piece on The Automat,” he says as I turn into the kitchen.
The news delights me. I love knowing we tried the place together, and now it’s part of his show. Makes me feel like a part of his daily life. “Because I approved it first,” I say, as I yank open the fridge and grab a bubbly water.
“I owe it all to you,” he says, then his tone shifts. “Did you sort out your thing with the guy?”
Well, we cracked open his painful past, I apologized from the bottom of my heart, then we made out like thieves in the stairwell, and if I could invite him over tonight, I would.
But I can’t.
“I did. I talked to him. It’s all good,” I say, and that covers the Beck situation well enough. I head to the couch and flop down with my LaCroix. Taco jumps on me, making use of my lap as a bed.
“Good for you. Now you can watch Unfinished Business again.”
I smile. “Yes, I can. But not with Dad.”
“Dude,” he says knowingly. “Never violate the universal rule—thou shalt not watch a sexy scene with a parent in the room.”