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There’s a pause, understandable hesitation, before she nods. “Yes.”
Clearly, I haven’t shown her enough of me, then. “There’s only one reason why a young woman gets naked in an older man’s hotel room. You doing that, and then putting on my jersey? Rifling through my stuff, looking for something that smells like me? You were horny. That’s why you’re wearing my jersey. And maybe I interrupted your play, and that’s why you want some champagne. Yes?”
“No,” she pants. “That’s not where I got?—”
“You don’t need to lie, little mouse. Tell Daddy the truth.”
She sucks in a gasp.
I keep going, my blood pumping furiously now. “Did you touch yourself right here on my bed?”
I trail my fingers up her soft, bare thigh, stopping just short of her panties.
She moans.
My heart squeezes so hard at the sweetness of that sound. One I don’t deserve, one I won’t hear again.
Part me wants to say fuck it, and just be whoever she wants tonight. I will keep all of her secrets, forever, no matter what.
But I can’t let her give herself to me without knowing who I truly am.
She needs to know that from the moment she skipped back into my life, I’ve been obsessed with her. It’s like she’s a completely different person. Not the little girl I once knew. Not my friend’s daughter. But a vision and a temptation I can’t get out of my mind.
So instead of softening my voice and making her moan again, I move my hand up to press against her stolen jersey—and her quivering belly beneath it. “Did you wrap yourself in my number and sink your little fingers into this hot wet pussy the way I’ve imagined you doing every single day since you crashed my pre-season interview?”
For emphasis, I press the heel of my palm against her mound.
She twists her head so we’re staring at each other. Time slows, then she sobs and lifts her hips, rocking up against my touch.
I yank my hand off her body as if I’ve been scalded.
“Trick,” she breathes. “Please.”
I stare down at her. Her wide eyes are soft and shimmering with desire. Her perfect, lush little mouth is parted and swollen. How many people have kissed her? Tasted those lips, and the wet heaven between them?
A wild possessiveness surges through me. I want to be the only man to ever know that pleasure.
And for no other reason than that, I should remove myself from this hotel room immediately.
I don’t.
Chest heaving, I stand again and open the bottle of champagne as efficiently as I opened the one at the ballpark.
“Yessss,” Sinclaire says, her face sparkling as if this is some kind of victory for her.
I take a big drink directly from the bottle, and her eyes flare, darkening.
“Trick, I like this side of you.” She licks her lips. “Can I have a sip?”
“I’m not getting you drunk,” I growl.
“Just a tiny sip.” She sucks in a breath, her chest rising and falling beneath my jersey, and I’m reminded that she couldn’t find her bra. She’s not wearing anything under that, and her nipples must be scraping against the fabric.
“Take off my jersey.” It comes out as a harsh order. Good. Let her think that I’m bossy and demanding, rather than knowing the truth, that I would fall on my knees and beg her to show me her secrets.
“I’m naked under here.”
Now it’s my turn to lick my lips. “Not fully. I gave you back your panties. Made you cover up that hot little cunt because it was too tempting for me.”
