Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
His low chuckle did things to my own low things. Damn the man. I’d rubbed one out for a reason. It was supposed to have allowed me to come out here and share this hot tub with Mr. Sexy Pro Baller without getting a boner.
Epic fail.
“Makes me wonder what you think of football,” he said deceptively casually.
“I love football,” I said truthfully. “When you’re playing it.”
Red alert. Warning. Warning.
My words settled around us like mini depth charges waiting to detonate and blow all kinds of peaceful shit apart.
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I admitted in a whisper. “Can we…”
He interrupted me. “You mean that?”
I made a little growling sound in my throat. “What happens in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas,” I reminded my stupid, fucked-up brain and mouth.
“We’re not in Vegas,” Tiller said with a grin.
No. No we sure as hell weren’t. We were half-naked together in a hot tub a mile away from the nearest anyone. And the buzz of white wine was making me stupid while the buzz of his sex appeal was making me hard as fuck.
“Tennis!” I blurted. “Now there’s a game. All that back-and-forth. All those… fuzzy… balls.”
I sighed. So much for a change of subject.
Tiller turned and gave me a knowing grin. “Isn’t that just another example of someone hitting something with a stick?”
I thrust my wineglass at him. “You should have some of this.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Me? Drink alcohol during the season? Are you high? My… Mikey… would kill me if he found out.”
I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning my head back and trying to find my Zen again. “Your Mikey is fallible, you know,” I muttered.
Tiller was quiet for a moment. Gentle water movement noises were the only thing breaking the silence between us until he spoke.
“Nah. My Mikey is perfect.”
Woah.
His Mikey was drunk. And so unbelievably happy. For the moment. It was enough.
7
Tiller
Mikey was adorable on his worst day, but when he was shirtless and tipsy? Jesus fucking Christ. The man was irresistible. As he sloshed wine down his front and began to giggle every time he mispronounced a word, I found myself staring at him like a creeper and grinning at him like a loon.
I was besotted, and honestly, I’d been obsessed with him for a while now. If he weren’t the coach’s son, I’d have had a hard time resisting him.
Hell, who was I kidding? I still had a hard time resisting him. It was impossible. I wanted to taste the wine on his lips, move my mouth down to test the shape of his throat, nip on the edge of his ear, and discover exactly what spots made him gasp.
I wanted to pull him onto my lap and knead his rounded ass cheeks with my hands. He was wildly expressive when he told a story, so I could only imagine how expressive and reactive he’d be in bed.
My jaw clenched against a groan as I felt my dick fill with interest. Down, boy. This man is not for you. Pick someone else.
I sighed and closed my eyes again. It had been over three years since I’d even been touched sexually by another man. Surely my desperation for Mikey was the result of this killer dry spell. Not that I wouldn’t be attracted to him regardless. I definitely would be and had been. The man was the sexiest human being I’d ever met. But this itchy, grasping sense of need was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It clawed at me like I could barely hold back the desire to pounce on him and make him mine. The way I wanted him was animalistic. Confusing. Downright obsessive and possessive.
“When was the last time you had sex?” Mikey’s voice shocked me out of my mental spiral. I almost wondered if he’d read my mind.
I glanced at him. “Are you asking me about my love life?”
He grinned. “Nah. Just your sex life. Totally separate thing.”
His eyes were glassy from the wine and the altitude, as well as the long day of traveling. His lips were wet from his last sip, and his cheeks were pink from the heat of the water and the cold night air. I wondered if I’d ever seen him look so beautiful.
“Long time ago,” I admitted.
“Rent boy?”
I gaped at him. “What?”
He blushed and looked away. “Never mind. Sorry. It’s none of my business. Inappropriate. Very inappropriate. Jesus, Mike.”
I reached out and touched his shoulder to get him to turn back to me. “Are you asking if I sleep with sex workers?”
He set his jaw. “There’s nothing wrong with sex workers.”
“Are you a sex worker?” God, he was so confusing. Sometimes I thought he talked himself around in circles in his head until stuff popped out all mixed up from his mental blender.