Page 94 of The Game We Played

I inch inside. I moan at the feel of her surrounding me. Her walls flutter around me and I fist my hands on the vanity before I pound into her.

“You feel good,” I whisper against her lips. “Better than…Shit.”

Her eyes fly open. “What’s wrong? Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“I’m fine, gorgeous. But I forgot a condom.”

She purses her lips. “You’re not feeling sick and not telling me?”

I palm her neck and lay my forehead against hers. “I would never lie to you about being sick.”

Especially not after her reaction on the field the other day. I know she worries. I’ve seen the looks she sends me when she doesn’t think I’m looking.

“Okay.” She motions to where our bodies are still connected. “Proceed. You promised multiple orgasms.”

“I’m bare, gorgeous.”

“And I’m on the pill. We’re good.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never been with a woman without a condom before.”

Her eyes narrow. “Does this mean you’re going to be a one-pump wonder?”

I growl. “I’m not a one-pump wonder.”

“Good. You may proceed.”

“I promise I’m clean. I had a medical at the start of training camp.”

She places a hand on my cheek. “I know and I trust you.”

She trusts me. Those words feel good. Nearly better than her admitting this relationship isn’t a charade. That we’re no longer fake.

I can’t wait to tell her I love her. But not now. I have more important things to do now. I promised to make her forget about her worries and I will. Starting now.

I sink into her until my balls slap her ass. I grit my teeth and count backwards from one-hundred before I explode.

I need to take care of Alaia first. Make sure she comes and experiences the pleasure only I will give her from now on.

Because this relationship is more than ‘not a charade’. It’s everything.

Chapter 29

BREAKING: OUTSIDE FORCES ATTEMPT TO DERAIL RELATIONSHIP Agent interference, scandal rumors, and one very stubborn heroine

Alaia

I stare at the article I wrote about Knox. I don’t have the first clue how to rewrite it. It’s perfect the way it is. Except it’s not. If it was perfect, it would be published.

My phone rings to interrupt my non-writing.

“Hello.”

“Is this Alaia Jackson?”

Jackson? Not Grant. Bummer. This call is not about my career. A career I have mere weeks to launch before theGazettecloses.

“It is. How may I help you?”