Page 21 of Dirty Player
“I didn’t even have to touch you?”
It was teasing, a hint of maliciousness, like he knew how easily he could have not only me, but any woman.
“Yes.”
“Good.” His hips pressed against me again and he bent his knees.
His cock nudged against my ass and my head fell forward, unable to bear the weight of the sensation.
Shit. He was huge. Thick. I licked my lips.
“I’ve been hard since I saw you at training camp. A fucking week, Shannon, and I haven’t been able to get you out of my fucking head.”
“Oh my God.” His truth burned my skin, lava rolling down my spine.
I needed that. This tryst in the bathroom meant nothing, not long term. I still needed to know he’d thought of me more than just when he’d seen me.
“Oliver.”
“You need something?” His hand ran across my stomach, his other still at my breast, lazy flicks over my hardened nipple. “Need something more than this?”
In reality, I could have orgasmed from the breast play and his words alone. It didn’t take much. Never did—at least, not until the last couple of years.
My hips rocked forward, seeking his hand at the top edge of my swimsuit. “Yes.”
“My fingers? Do you want them inside you?”
God, the asshole was going to make me work for this. My lip curled in frustration when he trailed along the edge of my swimsuit, teasing me.
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
“Make me come, Oliver.”
“My fingers or my tongue. Your choice.”
Oh God. Just the idea of him dropping to his knees either behind me or in front of me sent a full body shiver rolling through me.
His fingers brushed against my swollen and hot center and he groaned. “Fuck this,” he muttered and yanked down my bottoms.
“I want you too much. So fucking hot and wet for me, I can feel it through your suit. I’m going to torture and tease the hell out of you later, though.”
It was a warning.
It made me smile.
The smile immediately vanished when he pressed his fingers against my clit and slid them through my wetness.
“Fucking soaked,” he growled, his eyes on mine in the mirror. I saw him watching me before my eyes dropped to his hands.
One gripping my breast, the other fingering me, sliding through my flesh, teasing my clit before he pressed one finger inside me.
“Oh God,” I moaned, my mouth going slack. “So good. More.”
“So fucking greedy.”
Yes. It’d been months since I’d had sex with Patrick—a clue I should have recognized, since previously we’d frequently had sex.
I brushed the thought out of my mind.
