Page 122 of The Hot Shot

“Chess...”

“This is a rough patch, Finn. But I believe in you. In who you are as a man, not just as a football player. You’re not going to fail, because you’ll never give up. That’s the only failure in life.”

The curve of his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “Everything is right when I’m with you.”

He sounds so forlorn that I kiss his closed eyes. “You’re here now. Let me take care of you.”

“Couldn’t wait to get home to you.” Slowly, he starts unbuttoning the rest of my shirt, placing soft, reverent kisses down my neck as he goes. It feels so good, my skin pulls tight with heat and pleasure.

His breath hitches when he finds out I’m not wearing a bra, but he doesn’t part my shirt, just kisses my neck and the little hollow between my collarbones. His tender care lulls me into a languid haze, and I lower my head to his shoulder.

“Sometimes...” He presses his lips to my skin. “I hate that you’ve seen my guys naked.”

My hand rests on his biceps, my fingers tracing the hard curve there. “Going all caveman on me, Mannus?”

“Yes.” He runs the backs of his knuckles down the center of my chest to my belly. I shiver in response, arching my back just a bit. My breasts swell with heat, my nipples tightening. I want them exposed. I want his hands on them. But he keeps my shirt where it is, barely parted, revealing only my cleavage and the little indent of my navel.

His hand spreads out on the small curve of my belly. “I hate that you’ve seen their dicks.”

I huff out a laugh. “But I only want yours.”

“Mmm...” Slowly, he glides up toward my ribs.

My lids flutter, that touch so wonderfully tender but intense.

The tip of his thumb brushes the sensitive curve of my breast. I go still, silently willing him to move higher. But I don’task. Not yet. It’s too good, the way he teases me. He stays there, rubbing the underside of my breast with gentle fingers.

A sound escapes me, low, needy.

“Still hate it,” he mutters, kissing my neck. His hand gently cups me, feeling the slight weight of my breast. I shift in his lap, and the hard swell of his cock presses against my ass.

“Get over it,” I murmur half-heartedly. His fingertip has found my nipple. He circles it, skims the sensitive tip.

Mouth against my neck, Finn laughs, and the vibrations tickle my skin. “I suppose I’ll have to find a way.” He kisses his way down to the rise of my breast while his finger continues its slow torture, barely touching.

As if he’s taking an illicit peek, he lifts my shirt and draws it away from my breast. “What do we have here?” He kisses my nipple, giving it a small suck.

I squirm, hold the back of his head so he can’t get away. He chuckles again, licks my breast from curve to tip, as his free hand roams to find my other breast. Warm hands knead me. His mouth is hot and wet.

Lust rushes through me like a fever. I rub my thighs together with impatience. But he ignores that. His hand plumps my breast, holding it firm as he tugs on my nipple with his mouth.

“Finn,” I warn—beg—I’m not sure which.

He nuzzles the hollow of my throat, as his fingers pluck at the sore tips of my breasts. “Love that sound. You whimpering my name.”

I do it again, and he slides the shirt off my shoulders. His mouth finds mine. He kisses me, abuses my nipples, until I’m whimpering again, wiggling in his lap with need. Finn and I might have our fears, but here, in this way, we are perfection.

With a last kiss, he lays me back on the bed and then grasps the waistband of my leggings and panties. “Lift,” he orders. I raise my butt, and he pulls. I’m left in only my knee-high pink socks with ridiculous Christmas elves on them.

“Take them off,” I say, lifting my foot.

But Finn just grins. “Oh, no, I love these.” He grabs the arch of my foot and gives my toes a kiss before lowering my leg.

He looms over me, his chest bare, track pants riding low on his hips and not hiding the rise of his hard cock. Gorgeous as hell, but battered and bruised. I don’t want him to feel more pain.

“I thought you said I had to do the work tonight.”

His smile is lazy as he looks me over. “You do. Spread your legs for me, Chess.”