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twenty

. . .

[India]

Coming to Declan’s place after midnight was impulsive. I should have called. I should have asked. But I’d been restless during the game, sneaking enough glances in the direction of the Tennessee Terrors coach that my cameraman had asked me if I was okay.

I wasn’t.

While the nights in Colorado had been an awakening, and whatever was happening with Declan and me was refreshing, I couldn’t seem to pump the brakes. I was barreling toward him when it had only been three nights. Three glorious nights of orgasms and giggles, quiet talks, and sweet kisses.

Declan Wylde has definitely changed as a lover. He was always attentive, cautious even, double-checking that I was comfortable and satisfied. Now, he didn’t ask. He used cues from my body to read me and studied me like he was cramming for an exam.

I wanted him to pass .

And, like a wanton hussy, I was desperate for him to touch me again.

So, I’d dressed in this ridiculous coat I’d found in the back of my closet, with a slip of a nightie underneath it, and dragged myself across town, uninvited, to learn he was already having a slumber party.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt an existing sleepover,” I state, remaining in the hallway after Dasher Wylde passes me.

Dasher is bigger than his brother. Brusque. Boisterous. Beautiful, but in a different way than his sibling.

And while he walks down the hallway, I eye his counterpart—the younger Wylde—who doesn’t answer me, but tugs at the belt secured around my waist and pulls me into his apartment.

Within seconds, I’m pressed up against the inner wall and kissed like I’m the air he needs to breathe. Open mouthed. Panting tongue. It’s over almost as quickly as it begins before Declan rests his forehead against mine.

“My daughter is here,” he whispers. “ She’s the one with a sleep over.”

“Oh,” I whisper, in return. “I probably should have called.” I definitely shouldn’t be here.

With that thought in mind, Declan steps back, captures one loose end of the belt around my coat, and tugs me forward, slowly walking backward so I’ll follow him . . . right into this bedroom.

After closing the door, he takes a seat on the edge of his bed, bringing me between his spread knees. His warm hands cup the back of my upper thighs.

“I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I have a feeling I know.” He stares up at me, blue eyes like flames, before he glances toward his closed bedroom door.

“I don’t have to stay,” I tell him. I’ve overstepped. I took another risk with this man because my libido-meter is off the charts. Over the scoreboard and outside the ballpark .

At the same time, Declan says, “Take off your coat. Stay a while.”

“What about Montgomery?” I turn only my head toward the door.

“She’ll knock if she needs me. But she won’t.” He swallows, staring at me again. “Need me, that is.”

I could argue that every little girl needs her daddy, but I know what he means. In the middle of the night, she isn’t going to wander to his room unless it’s an emergency.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I say as I run my fingers through his hair, eager to touch him in some way.

His eyes close. “But you are. And it’s refreshing that you’re sneaking into my room for once.”

My mouth pops open just as his lids flip upward. He chuckles, releasing the back of my thighs, and falling back on his bed. Tucking one hand behind his head, he says, “Dare.” He tips his chin. “Take off the coat.”

Suddenly, I’m shy. I mean, I’m the one who put on the short jacket and wore nothing more than a slip of material underneath solely intending to seduce this man. Again.

But still, I hesitate, tugging tighter at the two ends of the belt instead of loosening them. I turn my head toward the bedroom door once more before I hear movement on the mattress.

Turning back toward Declan, he sits upright and reaches for the knot of the belt. With his fingers in the loop, he says, “We don’t have to do a single thing, India. If you’re nervous because of Montgomery.”

“I just don’t?—”

“Truth.” He pauses, untwisting the knot. “I want you to stay.” With that, he unloops the belt and starts at the bottom of the coat to unbutton the large brown fasteners.

With each opening, like slowly peeling back flower petals, a little more of what I’m wearing underneath is revealed.

I feel silly seducing a man with a teenager across his apartment, until he sucks in his breath and coasts his hands up the side of my thighs, over my hips, and beneath my breasts. Still seated, he cups the heavy, achy swells, forcing them upward.

“Dear God, please stay.”

“And you won’t touch me?” I arch a brow.

He pulls his hands back so quickly I almost tumble into him, not realizing I’d been leaning so heavily into his touch.

I catch his wrists. “Maybe just a little touching,” I tease, bringing his hands back to my belly.

“Pure wildfire,” he hisses, before leaning forward and sucking at one of my breasts, right over the silky material.

“Tell me you feel like a goddess in this thing.” He moves to my other breast, sucking the peaked nipple poking at the smooth fabric.

“I feel like a goddess,” I whisper. Especially around you .

Declan stands, forcing me back only half an inch, before pressing the too-warm-for-July trench coat off my shoulders. As it pools on the floor, he wraps his arms around my lower back and falls to his back on the mattress, taking me with him.

We’re lucky we don’t knock heads, but the thought disappears as he rolls us to our sides and kisses me once more like he hasn’t seen me in days when it’s been just over twenty-four hours.

I don’t complain. I feel as desperate for him.

Lying on our sides, Declan breaks our kiss and runs his fingertip along the side of my neck.

“How was your day?”

I chuckle softly. This can’t be what he really wants to talk about. Then I see the tenderness in his eyes as he watches his fingertip skate along my collarbone. He flips his gaze up to my face.

“Oh. Umm . . .” Does he really want to know? My brows pinch and Declan runs the tip of his index finger along the divot .

“Truth.” He smiles, easing my discomfort.

“I interviewed a fan about the nachos in the stadium today.”

Declan’s brows crease in return. “O- kay .”

“I know, right?” I huff. “Nachos. I mean, I’m not a food critic even if I consider myself a connoisseur of nachos.”

“Is there such a thing? A nacho aficionado?” He chuckles, kissing my neck and inhaling against my skin.

“Yes,” I blurt a little too loudly. “No liquid cheese. Only the real deal, melted. And equal parts beef and toppings, like tomatoes, olives, and green onions. Minimal jalapenos.”

“Minimal jalapenos?” he hums against my collarbone. “Blasphemy.”

“And then, the sour cream and guacamole in a one-to-one ratio.”

He smiles against my throat. “Sounds delicious.”

“It’s not field reporting.”

He pulls back, looking me directly in the eyes. The thing I notice first is he isn’t frustrated that I’m rambling about nachos while he’s been kissing me. Second, the intensity in his gaze is a mix of how turned on he is and his concentration to hear me.

He’s listening to my rant, when I’ve come here with a purpose that did not include complaining about nachos and topping ratios.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, closing my eyes and shaking my head.

“Stop.” He cups my cheek. “Don’t apologize. We can talk about nachos.”

I stare at him a second, certain he must be mocking me. “Nachos over sex?” I quip.

“Is that some new kink? Like I can spread melted cheese over myself, as long as I have the right combination of sour cream and guacamole to accompany it.”

I laugh. At myself .

“Now I’m hungry,” he jokes before fighting a yawn.

I rub my hand over his bristly cheek, then tickle my fingertips along his scratchy jaw. “How was your day?”

“My team had their asses kicked by my brother’s team. And this hot reporter still acts like I’m skimpy nachos, light on the toppings.”

Since he’s teasing me, I laugh again, and press at his shoulder, forcing him to his back.

“Hmm,” I purr. “I like topping.” I climb over him and straddle his waist until his hands meet my hips, and he nudges me lower.

“Can we skip the food analogies and get to the truth. I like you on top of me.”

We practiced this position, among a few others, in Colorado, and I feel like a horny teen, eager to try a few more.

But not with his daughter in the other room.

Slipping off him, I fold to my side again, and he twists to mirror my position. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t seduce you with Montgomery in the other room,” I whisper.

“Didn’t bother you when your parents were in one.” He smiles wide, leaning in to capture my lips before I can retort. Before I can argue it wasn’t the same thing when it’s almost exactly the same thing.

“We just need to be quiet,” he hums against my neck again, sucking on my skin.

He rolls over me, flipping me to my back, and pressing his thick bulge against where I’m warm and wet for him. My legs spread wider, accommodating him between my thighs, while his hands slip along my arms, before lifting them over my head.

“Ever been tied up?” he murmurs, kissing along my sternum and nuzzling between my breasts.

“No,” I choke on my responding whisper as he nips me again over the swell .

Declan scrambles backward, and off the end of the bed, reaching for something on the floor. When he stands upright, he tugs the belt from my coat taut.

“First time for everything.” He remains standing near my feet, waiting for my permission.

“Dare,” I whisper, as a strange energy ripples over my body. With my arms already above my head, and his eyes on me like I’m his prisoner, in the best way, he nods and climbs over me.

My wrists are locked by a knot in my belt and Declan’s head is between my thighs, making a meal out of me.

That’s better than any stadium concession.