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“I’m an asshole sometimes,” I confirm, squeezing her thighs before I hesitate, wondering how much I should share with her. But every part of me wants to be honest with her and that wins out. “An asshole who is always trying to win a game—challenging myself, playing with my food, cat and mouse. I get off on the thrill, addicted to the adrenaline. It’s a mystery why I never wanted to play golf past college because it’s everything I love. Though I’ve maturedsomesince high school, I think it just runs in my blood. My mom’s dad was an alcoholic who drank himself to death before I was born.”
Maybe I haven’t matured that much, because here I am, doing the same thing—adrenaline courses through my sick, twisted veins now from the anticipation that my dick will be buried inside Maren whenever I decide I want to. I’ve been hard since we got out of the car. All I have to do is kiss her, and she’ll appease me. And yet… I’m still talking, still dragging out this feeling.
Or maybe it’s the talking flooding my brain with dopamine. At this point, I’m not even sure. Maybe I’m challenging her to think less of me. Daring her to put an end to us.
Before I ruin it. Before Maren sends me into a spiral—one she won’t want any part of.
But fuck if her smile doesn’t make my stomach twist. I love how kind she is to everyone, how she shines for everyone else, but still has a fight in her that she doesn’t want you to see, that makes me feel lucky when I do.
Maren lifts her chin so she can skirt her hand to my rib cage and trace my tattoo with her fingertip. “That doesn’t make you him or your mom,” she whispers.
“Maybe not, but I made Gwen work for it, pushed her to make the first move, because I never would. No matter how badly I wanted her,the buzz I got from seeing how far she’d go was fun. It’s funny though because I knew she didn’t really wantme. She wanted to say she had me. She wanted me because she thought I’d go pro.
“And sure, eventually I let Gwen have me. She was my first crush after all, and I’d take her on any terms. Then I became so consumed with her she broke up with me because I was too much, too obsessed with her. I talked about my mom, my family, stupidly thinking that my mom would never relapse. I lost the mystery she was chasing, which I’ve dealt with for a decade now. It’s hard for me to trust people in the first place and being a professional athlete makes it even harder. Women see me as a lifestyle. They want to be the one I fall in love with, but none of them actually wantme. They see what I have, what I can give them, and I’m the little inconvenience they have to accept to get it. Luckily, I don’t care enough, and I don’t want to share my personal life with people, so it works for everyone for a while. It taught me what I’m good for though, and it’s not relationships.”
“Locke,” Maren says softly, “you’re worth so much more than that, than all of the things you own, no matter how well you can hit a golf ball. And maybe some girls don’t want that but some women do—the head over heels, I can’t think straight, I’d do anything and everything just to kiss you right now, she’sminetype of love. Some women know what it feels like to always come in second place.”
I sweep her hair back and lift my shoulders off the bed to kiss her. “Is that what you want?” I ask, rolling us over and pinning her to the bed. “Someone who’s obsessed with you?”
Her green eyes pop as her pupils contract then expand. She nods, her breathing heavy underneath me like she’s trying to push back against me.
I can feel her pulse racing in her wrists above her head where I have them in a tight grip.
“Put your weight on me,” she asks.
Taking the weight off my forearms, I let my body drop further onto hers as I slide my cock into her.
She moans out my name. I’ve never felt anything more perfect, heard anything more beautiful, seen anything more gorgeous.
Everywhere—my heart, my brain, my nerves—is shot. Blackened and deadened from the sudden shock.
“How can anyone not be obsessed with you?” I whisper into her neck.
She nibbles on my earlobe, bites it, before she gasps when I push myself into her fully. “More,” she pleads, digging her nails into my back.
Like I’m playing a role: the guy who gets her off on her praise kink.
To her, I’m the guy who doesn’t mean the things he’s saying. To me, I can’t explain it because I’ve never felt this way before, but I do mean it. Even if I don’t understand it.
I press my forehead against hers. Our eyes are an inch apart, and there’s nowhere else to look. “You don’t even know, Maren. I would do anything for you. The lengths I would go to keep you happy and safe and loved, keep you coming on my dick every night.” Her legs shake. Afuckfalls out of her mouth under her breath when I slam into her as deep as I can. “You feel how good you fit around me? You’re a fucking treasure. You’re out of my league. I mean it when I tell you you’remygood girl, and it would be a fucking privilege if you were obsessed withme.”
I kiss her hard. She kisses harder back.
We’re trading groans into each other’s mouths until we’re both coming together, sweaty and wild.
It feels real, raw, and for a second, I think I see the same feeling in her eyes blazing back at me before it quickly goes out.
I step back andadmire the now light-yellow accent wall of my old room—I mean, my nephew’s room.
We’ve been painting for hours, and my arms hurt after lifting a paint roller above my head on top of carrying two heavy cameras all day.
“This is the perfect shade,” I smile.
Camille nods in excitement. “I knew it would be.” Her shoulders fall when she looks at the crib, which is in a million disassembled pieces in the corner. “Now this crib, on the other hand. How long do you think this will take?”
“Suspicious that Parker is conveniently out of town when this thing arrived,” I tease. “What do doctors even have to travel for work for?”
“Right.” Camille narrows her eyes. “That orthopedic surgery conference he booked a year and a half ago. Heknew.”
