Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
He winks. “Pun intended.” Then his expression turns thoughtful for a beat. “I don’t mind that I’m not a Pioneer or a Wolf for life,” he says, naming the Vegas and Seattle mascots as examples. “They’ve all been good trades. I can’t really complain. Especially since Miami was good to me.”
I glance at his hand. I know he won a ring playing for Miami, but this is the first he’s brought it up.
“Why don’t you wear your ring? That would be fun to show off. Lord knows I’d be flashing it at everyone if I had one.”
He shrugs like he hasn’t given the topic much thought. “Jewelry’s not my thing. But nobody can ever take it away from me,” he says, then he lines up and taps the ball straight under a tyrannosaurus rex.
I whistle. “You are damn good at this,” I say.
He stops to press a possessive kiss to my lips. “A lot of years in the NFL, sweetheart. I’ve played a lot of golf,” he says.
“Cocky,” I tease.
He squeezes my ass. “And you like it.”
I like just about everything about him. And I need to just enjoy his company and this beautiful LA evening, and let next week be next week. But I don’t want to linger on that thought. Or what liking him might mean after this week of fun and games ends.
A few holes later, I’m at the tee of another hole, peering down the grassy hill, sizing up whether I can send the purple ball over or around a tiny bridge, when warm breath floats past my ear. “Let me help you, sweetheart,” he rasps out.
Before I can protest, Gabe lines his big body behind mine, his chest pressing against my back, his pelvis against my ass. Then his hands come down around mine on the club. “Did I ask for help?”
“No, but I’m doing it anyway,” he says, then brushes his lips along my neck. Tingles slide over my skin.
“Why is that?” I murmur as pleasure zips over me.
“I thought that would be obvious,” he says in a dirty rasp. “I want you to break first, Ellie.”
His words make me ache. But I try hard to stay in the moment and in the game. “Why do you want me to give in, Gabe?”
He nips on my earlobe. “Because I’ve been staring at you in that skirt for far too long,” he says, then tugs me tighter against him.
Moaning in my ear.
Are there other people nearby? Don’t know, don’t care right now. I rub against his erection. “Maybe I want to break you down,” I whisper.
Gabe slides a hand down the front of my skirt to the hem, playing with the fabric. “Sweetheart, I know you want to be broken. You want to be stretched across my lap, lifting that skirt for me, showing me that sweet ass.”
So much.
My breath hitches. But I try to keep playing our game. I try to break him, to goad him into giving in. “And what makes you think that?”
“Because I’ve been working on a certain fantasy this whole game,” he says in a low, smoky voice that makes me shiver.
“You have?” I ask.
He kisses down my neck again, telling me his fantasy.
And I call it quits on the golf game. “Let’s go now. You win.”
Let the bedroom games begin.
14
CAUGHT IN THE ACT
Ellie
I’m curled up on my couch, my hair in pigtails, a white shirt tied right under my breasts, a short plaid skirt showing off most of my legs.
Gigi’s sitting by my side as I scroll aimlessly on a tablet, paying no heed to what’s on the screen.
I’m only interested in what—or, more accurately, who’s—coming through the door any second. When I hear the sound of the lock opening, my thighs clench. I don’t look up from the couch. Giddy with anticipation, I stay focused squarely on the screen as the door swings open. Gigi lifts her head and tilts it. But she doesn’t break character either. Nor do I when I finally look up, gasp theatrically, and say, “Oh no! Mr. Clements is home early from the PTA meeting.”
Footsteps grow louder. Gabe comes into the living room, staring at me.
Quickly, I slam the tablet case shut. Caught in the act. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” I say, playing up the breathless surprise.
He steps closer, eyeing me suspiciously. “What were you doing, Ellie?”
“Oh nothing, nothing at all,” I say, twirling one of my pigtails innocently.
He arches a doubtful brow as he strides toward me, pointing to the evidence on the table. “Looks like you were doing something with my tablet.”
I scramble to answer the accusation. “I had to look up something for my Math 101 homework. But the baby’s sound asleep. Everything is fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about, Mr. Clements. I can just straighten up and go home to my parents.”