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I like this playful side of her and the way her breasts rise and fall with each breath. She trails the fingertips of her free hand across my chest and down my abs, touching me without reservation. My sharp inhalation tightens the muscles, and she pauses to explore.
Excitement stirs inside my chest. I didn’t expect this, not from her.
“You aren’t supposed to touch me either,” I remind her before scolding myself in the next second. I don’t want her to stop.
Something about the taboo nature of this moment makes each stroke even hotter.
“But lucky for you,” she purrs, “I don’t always follow the rules.”
My eyebrows rise. That’s news to me. “Neither do I.”
Her grin is coy when I rip my hand from her grasp and secure it around the back of her neck. Her silky hair brushes against my fingers. I pull her down until my lips hit the crook of her neck, lingering there. She smells sweet, like peaches, and her skin is soft, like silk. I nuzzle further into her, trailing my mouth along her neck and landing beneath her ear.
“Kiss me,” she begs.
I hesitate for only a moment, my mouth sealing over hers eagerly. Her lips are plush and just as soft as her skin. She’s a sin I never knew I wanted, but one I won’t soon forget. I work my tongue across the seam, enticing her to open her lips. It tangles with hers as we taste each other for the first time.
I feel like I’m caught inside a dream, but I’m a willing prisoner. I’m intoxicated, but it’s not from the alcohol I drank tonight. It’s her. It’s all her.
Emerson straddles me. She leans forward until the tips of her nipples skim my chest and I’m breathing her in. We’re separated by a thin sheet and leggings that hug every curve of her ass and legs, but nothing else. Her hips shift until she’s rubbing along my cock. All the extra blood in my body travels down to my groin. Every slide up and down creates a spark, but the friction isn’t enough to ignite a flame. I need more.
Our mouths fuse again as I drop my thumbs into the band of her leggings and tug down with an urgency that wasn’t there before. She lifts to kick them off. I roll us until she’s lying beneath me, and she widens her legs to make room for my hips. I groan when I nestle into her, finding her center warm and wet now that nothing is in between us. I glide through her folds. She moans and bites my lower lip, tugging it between her teeth. Her nails dig into my shoulders.
“Please,” she begs.
“Do you want me, Emerson?” I lick along her jawline, my nose trailing her cheek.
“Yes,” she murmurs breathlessly.
Her knees bend, and her legs tighten around my hips. I shift and start to slowly sink in …
A door slams somewhere down the hall, shattering the image inside my head. I hear footsteps passing the room. My heart is beating out of my chest, and my breaths are rapid and shallow. It takes me a moment to remember where I am—in a hotel in Seattle, Washington. It’s no longer nighttime. The early light of morning filters through the windows, where I didn’t bother to close the curtains last night. Amateur mistake.
I groan and run a hand down my face as reality sinks in. My mouth is dry, and there’s a sheen of sweat across my forehead. I glance over at the bedside table to see a glass of water sitting there, like it was left by an angel who knew I would need it this morning. I grab and empty it in a few gulps. A shifting movement across the room steals my attention, and I see that the angel is real and sleeping on the couch in my hotel room. The same angel who was naked, writhing above me, just seconds ago in my mind.
But none of it was real. Except for the raging hard-on I’m left with.
Images of last night flash across my memory as I relive the reality of yesterday evening. I lied to Emerson and ended up at a club downtown with a few of my teammates. The alcohol was flowing, and there were beautiful, willing women everywhere. One drink turned into another. One woman multiplied into several. And then Emerson showed up and dragged me back to the hotel, shifting from the innocent doe into the fiery warrior, ready to do battle with me.
I find myself wanting to provoke her just so I can see that angry side again.
I glance down at my chest to see that I’m not naked after all. I’m still wearing the clothes from last night. I’ve awakened before with women in my room, but they’ve never slept on the couch. And I’m typically not clothed. Neither are they.
Shrugging the covers off, I sit on the side of the bed and wait for the throbbing in my temples to subside. I glance at the clock to see we need to be downstairs in an hour or so to meet the rest of the team. We’re flying to California later this morning for a three-game stretch.
I lift the phone and order coffee and breakfast, speaking low so I don’t wake Emerson. She’s turned away from me, her back encased in a heavy gray blanket. But her breathing is even, so I assume she’s still asleep. That couch doesn’t look comfortable.
I hang up and rise from the bed, discarding clothes as I go. I leave my boxer briefs on, adjusting myself as I walk, but not removing them until I’m inside the bathroom. My balls ache from that dream, making me feel like a teenager again. I’m left unsatisfied and confused about the woman sent here to keep me in line. The one I’m not supposed to touch, but the one that I now want to.
I drink another two glasses of water, knowing I need to hydrate if I want to rid myself of the bad taste in my mouth and the throbbing inside my head. I turn on the shower and adjust the temperature, stepping beneath the hot spray to soothe my muscles.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my waist, answering the knock at the hotel room door. A waiter rolls in two trays full of food and another with coffee and mugs. I sign the bill and leave a tip before the door closes behind him. When I turn, tired golden-brown eyes are peering up at me from across the room. But unlike my dream, they aren’t filled with fire and lust.
“Hey,” I say, my voice scratchy and rough. I clear my throat. “I ordered breakfast. Didn’t know what you’d want, so I got a few different options.”
There’s a beat of awkwardness while I remind myself that she doesn’t know that I pictured her naked while sleeping this morning. Emerson sits up, the blanket pooling around her waist. She’s still wearing the sweatshirt, and I wonder if there’s a tank top beneath it. She runs a hand through her tangled waves, gathers her hair, and secures it into a messy bun with a tie she has around her wrist.
It’s strangely intimate, waking up with her, in a way that it hasn’t been with random hookups in the past. Even though we were both fully clothed and sleeping across the room from each other.
