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Or laughed at something I said.
Or nuzzled his nose against the side of my face before kissing my cheek.
Or gripped my hip possessively whenever his arm was around me.
Or found my eyes in the crowd, letting me know he was looking for me whenever we got separated.
Or just freaking breathed in my general direction.
All of this touching and playful banter back and forth between us has just been the most torturous form of foreplay I’ve ever known, starting with the night I met him. It’s been six long months of fantasizing about this man, and I don’t even have the strength to do the math on how long I fantasized about him before I ever spoke to him or got to know him. At this point, I’m about ready to come out of my skin if he touches me one more time or looks at me the way he did when he first saw me step off the ferry.
Like he wanted to peel this dress off my body and kiss every inch of me, and I would gladly let him and return the favor, because God he smells so good, and I already know he tastes even better after having his tongue in my mouth.
Stop thinking about his tongue in your mouth!
“It is a very impressive locker room,” I tell Quinn, trying to remember I’m supposed to be paying attention to all the new improvements he’s been showing me, not imagining what his big, rough hands would feel like gripping my hips while I rode his cock. “That’s a good picture of you.”
I nod to his new Sharks publicity photo and clear my throat, glad this man can’t read my thoughts. With Quinn in full uniform, staring seriously into the camera, with a football palmed in his hand down by his side, it really is one of the best ones he’s taken in his career.
When you’ve seen one professional football locker room, you’ve seen them all. I had been on plenty of stadium tours during my years with the Vipers, to be jealous of the kind of facility they had available to them, when we were expected to get dressed in an employee bathroom right off the tunnel. Needless to say, a hot-as-hell glossy poster of Quinn hanging above his locker in the long row of matching, handcrafted, wooden lockers, along with a brand-new Sharks jersey with Bagley printed on the back on a hanger in front of his locker, fills me with enough pride that I forget all about my jealousy.
“Thanks. I felt really bloated that day and had a zit on my chin.”
I laugh at Quinn’s ridiculousness, pulling my eyes away from his stare to look around the room again, his penetrating gaze making me feel like I’m standing in front of him naked.
I wonder what he would do if I told him Wren dared me to fuck him tonight? He’d probably laugh. Or he’d be insulted.
Or, he’d happily help me complete this dare, rock my world, and then everyone wins. Yay! Go team!
“You need to just take your own advice already, take your clothes off, and get laid.”
Shaking Wren’s voice out of my head from our phone call while I was getting ready for tonight, I turn and walk back to the archway, leaning my back against the wall opposite Quinn with just a few feet separating us. Crossing one of my stiletto-covered feet over the other at the ankles and then crossing my arms, I mirror his casual pose, even though I’m feeling anything but casual right now. This is the first time we’ve been alone together tonight, and I don’t know how to act. When we’re out there with all those people watching our every move, it’s easy to forget, play pretend, and touch him as much as I want, making flirty comments, because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. But in here, where it’s just the two of us, with no one watching to analyze our “fake relationship,” I’m second-guessing everything I say to him, and I suddenly feel like a virgin on prom night who doesn’t know what the hell to do with her hands. I’ve been working myself into a frenzy all night long, being able to be so free with him, that I’m starting to wish I would have packed a vibrator in my clutch. I’m horny, and it’s all his fault!
Does he want me to touch him? Would he freak out if I just walked over there and kissed him right now with no one around to snap a photo? It’s not like anyone was watching when he stuck his tongue down my throat in my parents’ driveway.
Since when am I so nervous around a guy? I’m the woman who gave my first kiss on a dare, gave my first blowjob on a dare, had my first—and only—one-night stand on a dare, and moved to fucking California on a dare. Why am I acting like I have no balls?
