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I’m buck-ass naked.
“Oh, shit,” I say, covering my junk and backing out the door to grab my shorts as she giggles. My face burns as I pull my shorts up before glancing back at her. She isn’t looking at me, but her cheeks are red too as she cleans her wounds, trying to act like she didn’t just see every inch of me.
“Guess, I need to take back my comment about the size of your dick, huh?” she says, and this time I see her eyes cut back to me, roaming along where my dick is hidden in my shorts.
Hmm. Maybe I’m reading her wrong. Maybe she is interested, she just doesn’t want to be.
I scoff as I lean against the door. “Like what you see, Moore?”
She grins but then cringes as she wipes the rocks out of her cut. “I’m not dead, Sinclair. I like dick.”
“Oh, I thought you may like pussy.”
Cutting me a dirty look, she shakes her head. “No. I don’t.”
I didn’t think so, but to be sure, I needed clarification. “Good to know.”
“And since you’ve done nothing but lick your lips and stare at my inner thigh, I’m guessing you like pussy?”
Observant one, this one is. Nodding my head, I get my fill of her as I say, “Like isn’t a strong enough word.”
“What word would you use then?” she asks low, in a throaty, sexy, naughty way before looking over at me.
Meeting her gaze, I say, matching her tone, “Crave. Need. Desire. Want. Yearn. Love.”
Heat creeps up her neck, and soon my cock is pressing against my shorts. I don’t know what this feeling is, but man, I like it. Sucking in a breath, I watch as she leans forward, grabbing another rag and wetting it.
“Have a way with words, I see,” she says, moving the rag along her face to clean up. “I’m almost done here.”
“Take your time,” I say, watching as she cleans her face and then her neck. “Give me a chance, and I can show you exactly what I can do with my words.”
She looks at me and then shakes her head. “I’m sure that will lead to something we’d both regret.”
“A night with you is not something I’d regret.”
Cutting her eyes back to the mirror, she shakes her head. “I would.”
Hot and cold, this chick is. Chuckling, I look down before asking, “How long you been playing?”
Expelling a breath, she answers as she moves the rag along her jaw tenderly. “My dad says I learned to skate before I walked.”
I smile. “So a while, then?”
“I’m almost twenty-one, so, yeah, a while.”
I nod. She’s my age, but she has been playing longer than me. I doubt her dad was joking when he said that; her game speaks for itself.
Looking over at me, she asks, “You?”
“Since I was about five.”
“Cool, you’re good.”
“You are too.”
“I know,” she says, sending me a grin before looking back at the mirror. “You need to work on your wrist shot. You missed a lot because it’s not very accurate. You have size to you though, maybe consider playing defense instead.”
I smile, not the least bit offended. “I do play defense.”
