Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“I’d do anything for you, Greta.”
“Even skip the basketball lesson?”
I stride for the gymnasium door. “Sorry, anything but that.”
Her burst of laughter is like a shot of wonder to my soul. And I know I’ll stop at nothing to hear that sound every single day of my life.
Chapter Six
Greta
I could get used to this womanhandling thing.
Me and Eric stand at half court of his giant underground basketball court, the fact that we’re completely alone amplified by the sheer magnitude of space. And we’re…flirting. There’s no other word for it. He tickles me and I giggle. I run my hands up beneath his loose gray T-shirt and he hisses a curse. He whispers secrets in my ear about nonsense, just for an excuse to slide his hand up the back of my skirt and I retaliate by taking a hard nibble of his neck.
My nude thong is soaked, stuck to my skin.
Honestly, I can’t remember a single other time I’ve flirted with a man without doing it ironically or being sarcastic the whole time. This is pure, unadulterated enjoyment for both of us. It’s foreplay. At least, I assume so, since I’ve never done it before. Eric gently fondles my breasts through the soft material of my tank top, groaning into my neck, letting me just feel the ridge of his erection every so often…all of it combines to weave a sensual spell.
At first, putting my hands anywhere I feel like putting them on Eric’s hard body feels like a violation, but his flesh is so hot and welcoming under my fingertips. When I use my fingernails on his abdomen, he hisses, tugs me closer by the buns. When I trail a finger down his belly, stopping just short of his bulge, he lets me stare at the heavy-looking sex tenting his red sweatpants. And I can’t stop myself from thinking what it would be like to touch him freely with no interference.
With his hands tied.
His offer to restrain himself during my first time was a surprise. Why can I never predict which direction this man is going to go? I came here determined to hold back. To get through the night without letting him past my emotional defenses. But then he opened the door and flashed me those dimples, he surprises me at every turn, constantly keeping me on my toes. Somehow, though, I never feel less than completely safe. Wanted. Needed. And it really makes me realize how long I’ve gone without that feeling of being important to someone.
He asked me to choose him of my own free will.
I never expected to consider it, but I felt the instant connection between us last night in the club and it’s getting stronger by the second.
Now, Eric kisses my neck one more time and backs away, not taking his attention from me once as he retrieves a basketball from the rack on the sideline.
Oh my.
I’m not supposed to be attracted to basketball players. I’m not even supposed to like this sport, but the sight of him dribbling toward me, like the ball is an extension of his body, that cocky smirk on his face, is doing it for me. Why can’t I just disregard him the way I do with the rest of the planet’s men?
“All right, angel, come here.”
I shake my head no and study my nails, making him chuckle.
“I’ll come to you, then,” he drawls, dribbling in a half circle behind me. “Have you ever dunked before?”
“What?” I gesture at my shrimpy body. “Is that even a question?”
“Height isn’t an issue on my court. It has magical powers.” Clearly enjoying himself, he jerks his chin at the closest rim. “Even the shortest person can dunk on that basket.”
I narrow skeptical eyes at him, but I’m half-smiling.
He passes me the ball. “Go on. Give it a try.”
“I barely manage to keep my balance on the treadmill,” I point out, carrying the ball to the foul line and squaring my shoulders. “I’m going to embarrass myself.”
Obviously, he’s got something up his sleeve, so when I get a running start in the direction of the basket and suddenly there are two extra-large hands lifting me up, up, from around the waist, I am half-expecting it. But accelerating upward so quickly, my hair blown back by the speed, is exciting nonetheless and I squeal, throwing the ball down through the net. A second later I’m dropping and landing with my back to Eric’s chest, exhilaration tickling my veins, and I can’t seem to stop laughing in a breathless way I’ve never heard before. Not from myself.
“Told you,” he says in my ear. “Magic.”
“It was,” I breathe, being honest.
“Does that mean you love basketball now?”
“Don’t push it.”
We laugh quietly, but it turns into sighs. I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline, Eric’s charisma, the arousal he kindled at half court or all of the above, but I’m suddenly ravenous for the taste of him. My pulse is pounding a thousand miles an hour and I want his mouth on mine. Now now now. I twist around in his arms and find his lips with mine, slinging my thighs high around his waist and clinging, seeking his tongue eagerly and finding it. Finding it because he gives it to me just as hungrily, plowing his fingers into my hair, raking and slanting his mouth over mine, our groans filling the air between us.