Page 160 of The Play Maker

But then he leans in. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and he brushes his thumb over my cheekbone. “I’m sure he misses you too,” he murmurs. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

I was so worried to tell him about Six. I’d been dreading this conversation for days. Rehearsing it. Bracing myself for the way he’d maybe pull back, or tense up, or act weird.

But of course he’s understanding.

But he didn’t.

And the pressure in my chest builds—louder now, heavier. Like my heart’s trying to tell me something I’m not ready to hear.

I blink up at him. He’s so close, still holding my face, his thumb moving so gently across my cheek it makes my breath catch.

So I lift up and press my lips to his.

He kisses me back immediately, groaning low in his throat, and the sound shoots straight down my spine.

His hand slides into my hair, the other one gripping low on my waist as he shifts and rolls on top of me.

His knee presses between my thighs, right against the seam of my leggings, and I arch up without thinking, chasing the friction, chasing him.

I moan into his mouth when it hits just right, my fingers clinging to the hem of his T-shirt, and he groans again.

The kiss turns messier. Hotter. Tongue and teeth and breathless noise. His hips rock down, just once, and I gasp.

He slides his hand up my side, slipping beneath my hoodie, dragging the fabric higher and higher until cool air hits my bare skin. My breath stutters, catching in my throat.

His thumb moves slow, rubbing circles over the thin fabric of my bra, and I gasp into his mouth.

But then he pulls back. Groaning, breathing hard, shaking his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, resting his forehead against mine. “This isn’t why I called you over.”

I grab a fistful of his hoodie and tug him back toward me. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I want you to.”

He blinks. Shakes his head a little like he’s still not sure if he’s dreaming. “You sure?”

I nod, then take his hand—still resting high on my ribs—and guide it back up. Over my breast again. “Please.”

He groans loudly. “Don’t beg me,” he murmurs, his hips pressing down against mine. His head dips to my neck, mouth brushing over my throat. “You don’t know what the fuck that does to me. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, begging…Jesus, Maisie.”

My cheeks are on fire. I’ve never done this before. Never been this bold. Never begged anyone for anything. But with him?

It’s easy.

It’s terrifyingly easy.

His hand moves again, slower this time. Almost like he’s savoring it. His thumb grazes the lace edge of my bra, then slides higher, right over my nipple.

The hoodie’s bunched at my ribs now, and I don’t care. I want it off. I want all of it off.

I need him to touch me. I need to feel his body against mine. I needhim.

I curl my fingers into his back, dragging him closer, until I can feel every line of muscle pressed into me and look into his eyes.

“I want you inside me.”

34

AUSTIN

Fuck.