Page 73 of Player

Jaysus, I love a woman who goes after what she wants.

I find her clit and roll it between two fingers.

“Holy shit,” she screams.

I fuck her harder with my tongue, her excitement coating my mouth, my chin. I thrust in and out and as deep as I can until I hear her voice, her words sweet music to my ears. “Finn. God, that was fast. I’m going to come.”

Her thighs tighten around my shoulders.

Her hips arch up as she grinds into me.

I don’t stop. I couldn’t stop if you told me they’re giving away a year’s worth of whiskey at the pub.

She begins to moan and shake.

I squeeze her clit between my digits and drive deep.

She comes violently like she’s releasing a lifetime of pent-up lust and frustration. “Yes,” she cries out. “Oh, Finn.”

I don’t slow down or let up, milking every last drop of her until she practically faints like a ragdoll in my arms.

Gently, I lay her back on the blanket, repositioning myself so I can cuddle up against her.

Cuddling? Feckin’ hell. After that, I should be running for the hills. Because I want another taste of her. And to fuck her. Fuck her so brilliantly there’ll be no more questions about me being the best.

“Well, what’ve you to say?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she answers, her tone husky and raw, still in la-la land after climaxing hard enough the ground shook.

“Say it, anyway.”

“You’re the best.”

My heart swells with pride and my cock hardens with need.

“But like my mom used to say,” she informs me with a laugh and wiggles up against me. “Being the best isn’t what counts.”

“And what does?” I prompt. Wanting to understand her at a deeper level. Needing to know, for my own selfish motives, what makes her tick.

“Honesty.”

She says it so simply, yet the word feels like she tossed a feckin’ grenade onto the blanket.

I had to ask, didn’t I? What I should have done was tucked myself away and retreated into the yonder green hills. Not ask personal questions. Not get caught up in the aftermath of shagging. If only I were a better man, in a different place, at a different time, in a normal profession without a boss who’d lose the head if he discovered I brought this minx into the mix.

“Looks like rain,” I say, scrambling to my feet.

“Rain?”

“Best get back.” As quick as I can, I gather our things.

“If you say so,” she mutters, annoyed at my sudden change in demeanor. I feel like an arse.

But it’s for the best.