Page 127 of The Play Maker

I swallow hard, and the words come tumbling out before I can stop them. “I haven’t… I haven’t done anything before.”

He pauses, his lips curling up into a small smile. “I figured.” There’s no judgment in his eyes. “We don’t have to do anything, Maisie,” he says. “I’m gonna go slow with you. Whatever you want. You take the lead here.”

My throat tightens and I nod. “I… I want to.”

He leans in, kissing me again. His hand moves, stroking up the side of my ribs, sliding over the fabric of my shirt, and then cupping my breast through the soft cotton.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push. Just palms me slowly, his thumb brushing back and forth in a way that makes my head spin and my breath catch.

A soft sound slips out from me, surprised and completely involuntary.

He groans low in his throat and presses his mouth to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin lightly. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs against my skin.

I can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up. I arch into him, craving more of him. “Sorry,” I whisper.

He grins against my neck, then kisses the spot just under my jaw. “Don’t be. Never be.”

And then he’s kissing me again, but this time it’s different. There’s a hunger that wasn’t there before, like whatever restraint he had is starting to slip. Like now that I’ve said yes, he’s letting himself want me fully.

His hand slides down, fingers ghosting just under the hem of the t-shirt I’m wearing—his t-shirt—and everything inside me sparks to life.

I shiver, nerves dancing across my skin as his touch finds bare flesh. His fingers curve around my waist, his thumb brushing over the soft swell of my stomach.

For a split second I freeze, that familiar self-conscious flickering within me, but he just keeps kissing me.

Then he dips his head, his lips trailing over my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone, each kiss slow and soft, setting my skin on fire. His hand slides under my shirt, grazing my skin, climbing higher and higher, exploring, learning how I breathe, what makes me shiver.

When his thumb brushes over my nipple, I can’t hold back the small, desperate whimper that slips out.

His breath hitches. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so—Maisie, you’re…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just kisses my skin, his mouth soft and hot as he sucks gently at the curve of my throat.

I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair. He groans softly when I tug just a little, and presses his hips forward.

Heat pools low between my legs and my breath stutters.

He pulls back just a little, searching my face. “You okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse and rough and so sexy I can’t take it.

I nod, probably a little too fast. “I just…” I try to breathe, trying to get the words out. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He gives me the softest smile. “You don’t have to know. Just tell me what you want, yeah?”

“Okay.”

His lips brush mine again as his hand moves down, skimming my inner thigh, enough to make my breath hitch.

“Maisie,” he says, pausing to look at me, “I need you to tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I don’t,” I assure him, locking eyes with his. “I want this. I want you. I feel comfortable with you.”

He watches me for a few seconds, before he lets out a low groan, and his hand finally slips between my legs, cupping me over my panties.

Oh god.

I let out a sound I’ve never made before, a needy, rough moan, and he swears under his breath as he pulls the cotton aside, and runs his fingers along my pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he grunts, kissing my shoulder as his fingers start to move.