Page 43 of Dirty Player
“Just don’t crash her.”
“Never do,” Frank said as he opened the driver’s door and slid inside. He peeled out onto the street so fast I wondered if he’d looked for traffic first.
As the lights disappeared around the first corner and the sound of screeching tires evaporated, the smell of burned rubber remained.
“Come on.” Oliver tugged on my hand, and I stumbled on my feet, trying to catch up to him.
I’d assumed he’d brought me to the hotel for a random hookup, treating me like any random woman he’d picked up off the streets. His conversation and obvious affection for Frank told me something different was happening.
We didn’t stop as we walked through the lobby. Oliver moved quickly and with purpose, and when we reached the bank of six elevators, he pulled me toward the farthest one and slid a key through a reader before pressing the button.
The door opened immediately and we stepped inside, my mind still whirling with the quickness of how everything had happened. Had he checked into the room earlier?
“Frank’s been the doorman at this place for almost twenty years. Lost his wife to cancer shortly after I met him. From what I’ve been able to figure out about him, he doesn’t have much in his life, so when I stay here he drives my car for a few minutes before parking it in the valet.”
It was a really long explanation that didn’t answer any of my questions. Like, what made Oliver begin speaking to him in the first place? How did he take the time to learn all of that, and what had happened that made them seem so close?
It all contradicted his assurances of being an asshole.
I stared at Oliver through the mirrored reflection of the elevator door, too nervous to face him, too scared of what he’d see on my face. Yet as everything began clicking into place, I couldn’t stop the smile.
“Asshole,” I teased. “Right. You’re such a prick.”
His eyes widened and he stepped in front of me, pushing me to the back of the elevator without touching me.
His strength and his size made him immoveable in front of me and I couldn’t see around him to see the look of surprise I knew was on my face.
“Have I told you tonight how sexy you look in my team’s jersey?”
I was in jeans and sandals and an oversized jersey with Beaux’s number on it. My hair was pulled back so the wild curls stayed out of my face during the game.
There was nothing sexy about how I was dressed, yet when Oliver began trailing a finger along the length of my jaw, I felt like I was in a ball gown.
“You might have forgotten that part.”
He leaned forward. His hand on my jaw tightened and held me in place. “Forgive me.”
His lips pressed to mine, stealing my breath, and I clung to him immediately. It’d been days. My body ached for him immediately.
He held me against the wall with the frame of his body, and the kiss changed from soft and seeking until he devoured me. His tongue slid along the seam of my mouth and pushed through before I could receive him, but I met him then, kissing him back and raising my hands to his shoulders so I could get closer. Deeper.
A thud sounded on the floor and then his hand was at my waist, pulling me toward him, ripping my shirt from my waistband until his hand was pressing against the small of my back.
The chime of the door and the sudden stop of the elevator made him jump and we separated, both of us breathless, his dark hazel eyes more tawny than green. Mine were just as wild as he looked down at me, his gaze tracing every feature in my face.
“When we get inside my place, we’re going straight to my room where I’m going to spread you out all over my bed, taste every inch of your skin, and eat you until you’re screaming my name and begging for more.”
My mouth went dry and wetness seeped into my panties. Everything he said did that to me. He had a way of looking at me like I was the only woman he’d ever seen. Like stripping me naked and making me bare for him was his highest priority.
“You say such filthy things,” I whispered as he bent to grab the bag he’d dropped earlier.
“You fucking like it.”
I did. I didn’t argue with him about it. I wanted sex with him and his filthy words more than I cared to admit. Even when my sex life with Patrick had been at the pinnacle, we were always more of a one-and-done couple when it came to sex and orgasms.
Multiples in one night had been rare.
With Oliver, I knew the opposite with him would hold true. He wasn’t the kind of man to stop until he’d gotten everything he wanted. Lucky me that he seemed to want me.
