Page 16 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

The Rules

Izzy

I close the door softly behind me, the click of the lock sounding ten times louder than it should in the quiet. My back hits the wood with a thud , and I just stand there, heart in my throat, lips still tingling, brain fried.

He kissed me. No, I kissed him. Or did we kiss each other? Does it matter?

It was a kiss that wrecked me. The kind that hits like a storm surge, pulling you under before you know you’re even concerned with drowning.

My palm is curled tight around the key he gave me, so tight the edge digs into my skin. I finally open my fingers and stare at the small plastic rectangle like it’s a glowing rune. Room 1609. His room. His key. His words: “I’m not asking to interrupt your life, Iz. Just your night.”

God.

I look around the hotel room, expecting noise or distraction—something. But it’s quiet. Empty.

The beds are perfectly made, untouched. No makeup bags, no curling irons left on the counter. Mags and Lexi must be on lockdown. And the rest? London, Harper, Riley, Lauren, Syd? With their men. Which leaves me alone. Totally, inconveniently alone. Is it a sign?

I push off the door and make my way to the bathroom, flicking on the light. My reflection is a mess of flushed cheeks and swollen lips, wild hair and wide eyes.

“You look like a lumberjack has mauled you,” I mutter to myself.

Still gripping the key, I splash cold water on my face, pat it dry, then dig around for a toothbrush. I find one. Still in plastic. Thank God for hotel kits since there is no time to be digging through my bags.

I brush my teeth, wash my hands, apply a fresh coat of lip balm. Not lipstick. No, if I’m doing this—if I’m walking down that damn hallway like a woman with something to prove and nothing to lose—I want to taste like me. Clean. Real. Familiar.

I start to towel off my hands and look down.

The key is still there. Still burning. I drop it and decide just to breathe.

Nothing comes from not thinking things through.

I dive into things headfirst when necessary, but this is not a crisis that requires my immediate attention.

This is me avoiding what could become a crisis.

I find my bag under the pile of everyone else’s, dig through it, and find pajamas—a pair of my old, perfectly worn flannel sleep shorts and a thermal shirt. Which is the opposite of hook-up attire.

I head to the bathroom, where I find my phone lit up. I have a message from Dad.

Dad:

Mom and I love you, kiddo. Breakfast in the morning?

Me:

Sounds good. Love you both.

I take a quick shower, dry off, swipe on some lotion, run a brush through my hair, brush my teeth again with my own toothbrush, and breathe.

Inhale, don’t do it . Exhale, don’t do it . Inhale, don’t do it . Exhale, don’t do it .

Then … I walk to the door, open it, and peek out, hoping someone will be out there and snap me out of this insanity.

No one is.

I take a left.

Sixteen oh nine, almost comical.

Each step echoes in my head louder than the last. My hand trembles as I lift the key.

I need answers.

Okay, yeah, then maybe more.

The key he gave me slides into the lock.

The door opens soundlessly, and there he is, sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, head bowed as he looks up from the screen, then sets it on the bed.

That tempting treasure trail that constantly flashes when he stretches?

It’s not the only hair on his body. Skinner doesn’t shave—he’s not a waxed, polished boy.

He’s a damn man. The light spatters of hair on his chest and abs are light, and neatly trimmed, and it does wildly inappropriate things to my brain, and other bits, too.

He stands like he’s been waiting. I lift my hand before he can say a word.

“Stay right there. I have things to say.”

He pauses mid-motion then drops his ass down, leans back, palms braced on the white duvet, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Head tilted. Watching me.

“Don’t look so smug,” I warn. “You might not like what I have to say, but it needs to be said.”

He nods slowly.

“First, if you like Lexi, then this”—I motion between us—“doesn’t happen. I don’t mess around with anyone who has or wants to fuck with my girls. It’s not cute. It would cause a rift I refuse to allow in my life. Dick comes and goes, but my relationship with them? That’s forever.”

He quirks a brow, amused. “Lexi’s cool, but there’s no attraction?—”

“And no lies. No bullshit,” I cut him off. “You came up to us at the meet and greet, acting all curious about who she was, flirted and?—”

He interrupts. “I came to you because the place was full of strangers, and you were in the middle of an argument. No one had your back. So I took it.”

History would caution me that that was a load of crap. However, I have a PhD in reading this man, and my gut says he’s telling the truth.

“Fine,” I say. “Whatever. But?—”

He crosses his arms, jaw tightening.

“What?”

“I’m not a bitch in the bedroom. Usually, I don’t give a damn. But if you don’t believe me—if you’re gonna look at me like just any other girl , I’ll be forced to ask you to leave, no matter how much I want you. Then I’ll end up yanking my dick off after watching you walk out.”

I shake my head. “Huh?”

“You have rules, so do I. You don’t trust me, no matter how much I wanna make you come, then come with you, and not just the thought of you .

You know my ‘special alone time’”—he air quotes—“which after we’ve finally admitted what’s going on between us, add to that our seriously hot as fuck kiss, I would most certainly be yanking it hard enough that I’d no doubt end up pulling off my dick and then, Iz , what good would I be to you? ”

I blink … hard.

“You have to trust me; you feel me?”

I’m not sure if that you feel me was a question or a taunt. Nonetheless, I would seriously like to feel him , because he’s not wrong—that kiss was seriously hot as fuck.

I cross my arms and brace myself for whatever is going to come out of his delicious mouth next. “What are your other rules?”

“Just for tonight, you have to scream my name in almost silence.”

I swear that request rattles my brain. “Whaaaat?”

He places a long, thick finger to his mouth. “Shh, your parents are in the room between ours.”

“What?” I whisper-scream.

He calmly explains, “Jake poked his head out and asked if you got back to your room.”

I feel panic set in and turn to leave, but before I get to the door, he plants his palm on it, stopping me from making my exit.

“Where do you think you’re going, Izzy Ross?”

His body is pressed against mine, my brain threatens to do that rattle thing again.

“How did you get from there to here so fast?”

“Luckily for you, I’m not only built for speed but also endurance.” He pushes my hair over my shoulder and slides his lips from my shoulder, up my neck, and lightly nips at my ear.

It feels so good , but …

“My dad could be ready to break down this door now, or even at a more unfortunate time. This can’t happen.”

He wraps his arm around me, his hand slipping beneath the hem of my tee, brushing the bare skin of my belly. “Then we’ll be quiet. Really quiet. Or you can just try your luck sneaking back into your room with a flushed face, swollen lips, and the scent of me all over you.”

I swallow hard.

“The hall wraps around the floor, Iz. No need to pass by that way. Hell, I can tuck you in front of me, hide you, and walk you to your room, like a motherfucking gentleman.” He turns me slowly, like he has all the time in the world.

His hands skim my waist, slide down to the back of my thighs, and then he lifts me.

I wrap around him instinctively, our mouths crashing before I even realize I’m kissing him first. Again .

He walks us to the bed without breaking contact. My fingers dig into his back, finding those deep lines of muscle, the ones that flex when he moves. He feels just like Dream Skinner, maybe better.

He sets me down at the edge of the mattress and pulls back just enough to let his eyes roam me. “You sure?” he rasps.

I nod. “Only if you are. Only if you and I agree this isn’t anything but scratching an itch and ends with a handshake. No regrets, no awkwardness, no …”

His smile is slow, wicked, reverent, as he drops to his knees.

My breath catches as he palms my thighs and presses a kiss to the inside of one then the other.

He looks up, eyes molten, and asks, “Still sure?”

“Skinner.”

“That’s not a yes.”

I drag my fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him growl as I whisper what I already know is going to be one of my biggest mistakes. “Yes.”

As his teeth graze my inner thigh, the heat between them intensifies, and my nipples are so hard they ache. I have never been so turned on in my entire life— never .

He hooks his thumbs in my sleep shorts and pulls them down slowly.

“The fanfare is unnecessary.”

He lifts my foot and removes one side. “That would be more convincing if you weren’t holding onto my hair like if you let go”—he looks up at me, moss green eyes framed by thick dark lashes—“you might fall.”

I release my grip, and his hand covers mine.

“I didn’t ask you to stop.”

I open my mouth to tell him just to stop talking and get naked when he stands, and his lips crash into mine again. His hands are on my waist as he moves me up the bed. His knees are between my legs, pushing them apart before grinding against me.

He’s still in sweats, but that does little to lessen the feel of his hard body against me … all of it.

I may not be proud of myself, but I’ve glanced down and checked out his “package.” I could tell he had nothing to be ashamed of in the locker room, but I didn’t expect him to feel this thick, this long, and Lord help me, this heavy.

Hell, just feeling him, I have no doubt that he’s going to make everyone before him feel like a freaking prequel.