Page 15 of Player

“I want a taste of you.”

My body stiffens, as he removes his newly expert fingers. The thought of his mouth, that beard, anywhere near my— “No,” I choke out. “Gentlemen first.”

His lips curl beneath his whiskers, and my heart skips a beat. He can be drop-dead sexy at times, especially when he’s being cocky. Can he really be this terrible a lover?

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t want this.”

“It’s your beard,” I admit. “Ever thought of shaving it off? I bet you’re handsome beneath all that—”

“Lay back,” he interrupts, all business.” He brushes my hand off him, unzips his jeans, and removes his cock.

I can’t help but stare at it. He’s hung, impressively so. His cock might be the second most beautiful part of him aside from his eyes.

He strokes himself and my mouth goes dry.

“Keep looking at me like that and this won’t take long.” He works his hand up and down his shaft. Slowly at first, then picking up speed as he finds his rhythm. It’s always been a power play for me, promising a man he can release on my body, tempting him with my naughty words, causing him to lose control. There’s a distance in it, a lack of intimacy, if you will. And I can count on half a hand the number of times I’ve been in this situation, including now. George never reached climax, not that I would have let him actually come on me. The two boyfriends I’ve had were more into the turn on of foreplay but never finished on my skin.

Really, I’ve been talking the naughty talk but not walking the walk.

Watching him, it feels like I’ve been missing out. He’s close now, and utterly fascinating in how controlled his movements are. Like he knows what he’s doing.

Like he’s done this before.

Wait a damn second ... but I can’t finish the thought because his climax grips hold of him fast and furious.

“Brace yourself,” he grunts, then steps a half step forward as he comes, his warm seed spewing across my chest in buckets. I close my eyes, excited and disturbed and confused about why I let this happen.

When I reopen them, he’s tucked himself back in.

“Hurry and clean yourself off. I called a cab for you.”

My eyebrows pitch. “When?”

He shrugs. “Back in the bedroom. Time to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” I hiss. I grab the nearest cushion and use it to wipe his jizz off me. Gross, but it serves him right.

He moves toward the door.

I pull my pants back, scramble to my feet, then clutch my ruined blouse together with one hand. “We had a deal.”

“Did we now?”

“You played me,” I seethe.

“You tried to seduce me. Way I see it, we’re even. Be happy I’m letting you walk out of here with only a sticky bosom.”

This is hands down the most infuriatingly, awkwardly unsatisfying hookup ever. Being discovered in a closet with that sexist pig George wasn’t this frustrating.

I grab my purse, retrieve my gun, then stalk forward. “You’re an asshole.”

“Been called worse.”

“You kiss like a guppy.”

He puckers his lips and blows me a kiss. “Thanks for the memories, colleen.”

“El Chulo was right.” I barrel by him and swing open the door. Spinning back his way, I make invisible quotation marks in the air as I fling my final insult at him. “You’re one stupid, motherfucking CIA agent.”

His laugh begins in his diaphragm and rumbles through him like a freight train. It’s the kind of laugh that brings tears to your eyes or causes your stomach to ache. It’s riotous, like my insult struck the mother lode of funny bones.

It accompanies me out of his apartment and down into the streets and lingers in my mind the entire cab ride home.