Page 48 of Trick Play
She glances up at me, her red lips pulling into a smile that she quickly tries to suppress, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “You just made such a big deal about this being casual, and then you invite me over and cook me dinner?”
“So? Would you prefer I ordered pizza or something?”
Another shrug. “I mean, that’s what most guys would’ve done. Cooking for someone is generally considered … romantic. Something more serious, anyway.”
I narrow my eyes at her and pick up my own silverware, aware of an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. “It’s not that big of a deal,” I insist. “You need to eat. I need to eat. I’m going to be eating tons of stuff I’m not supposed to tomorrow and the next day. I’m saving calories for that. Ordering pizza wouldn’t work for that. And besides,” I add after a moment, my voice lower, darker, ”eating here is easier than trying to go out somewhere. The distance to my bed is a lot shorter, for one.”
That has a short burst of laughter coming out of her, and the set of her shoulders seems to relax. “There’s the horny football player I’m used to.”
I grin at her, feeling better too, like we’re back on familiar footing. “Never went anywhere, babe. Just had a hard practice today, and I need some sustenance before I make you scream.”
I don’t miss the way she shifts in her seat at that. “Better hurry up and eat, then,” she murmurs, and I couldn’t agree more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Piper
Cal spends dinner making small talk, asking me about what I have left to get through before finals, what I’m planning to do over Christmas break, if my class load next semester is just as punishing. And the whole time, his eyes stray to my mouth again and again. I can’t help doing the same—staring at his lips each time he takes a bite or licks a stray bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth.
He’s right that chicken and broccoli isn’t particularly fancy. But with the balsamic sauce he made with it? It’s delicious, even if it is his way of skimping so he has room for more calories tomorrow and the next day.
As soon as I finish my food, he pulls my plate away, stacking it on top of his, grabbing our glasses by the openings between his strong, capable fingers and taking them to the sink. Then he’s behind me, taking my hand and guiding me to my feet. He backs me against the kitchen table, my ass on the edge as he drags his lips up the column of my neck to the point of my jaw, his breath hot on my skin. Then his teeth capture my earlobe. “Up on the table,” he commands, his voice deep with every expectation of obedience.
“Say please,” I retort, but it comes out less sassy and more breathless.
He smiles against my neck. “Please,” he says, the single word full of indulgence. Like he knows I’d do it without the pleasantry if he pushed, but he doesn’t feel the need to prove his mastery over my body. At least not right now.
His hands fall to my ass, helping ease me up onto the table, his hips in the cradle of my thighs. He grinds against me, the movement somehow both slow and rough. Almost desperate.
But he’s still fully in control.
He kisses me, his mouth owning mine, his tongue sliding between my lips and tasting me, coaxing me out, as though I need any kind of coaxing.
When he pulls away, his eyes are dark blue, his lids heavy. “Lie back,” he whispers, his hand slipping up between my breasts and exerting just enough pressure to emphasize what he wants from me.
I give him a dubious look. “Why?”
He gives me a cocky smile. “I want to eat you for dessert.”
A surprised laugh splutters out of me, but my thighs tighten around his hips, and I pull him close enough that I can rub against him.
A low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest. “See? You like the idea. Just listen, and I promise I’ll take care of you.”
I’m about to do as he asks, the arrogant little shit, when I realize I need to not get carried away just yet. “Where’s your phone?”
He raises an eyebrow, his voice equal parts amused and confused. “In my pocket. Why?”
Reaching between us, I start trying to work my hand into one of his pockets, but he pulls my hands away and retrieves the phone himself. “What are you doing?” he asks.
Instead of answering, I take the phone from his hand and power it down, then set it well out of reach. I mean, he could still get to it if he really wanted to, but I’d notice at least.
“Want to make sure we can’t be interrupted?” he asks with a smirk.
I grin back, grateful for the plausible excuse. “Of course.” I rub my hands up his chest, wrapping them behind his neck and pulling his mouth to mine.
“What about yours?” he murmurs against my lips, peppering them with tiny, nipping kisses.
“Hmm?”
