Page 14 of Tempting the Player
“I can’t take this,” she said, tugging on his hair.
Chad clasped her wrists and forced them against the wall. As he was, between her thighs and her hands immobile, she couldn’t stop him.
“You can take this,” he said against her heated flesh.
Giving her no other option, Chad proved it. Kept at her until she came apart, screaming his name as her release tore through her, more powerful than the first. She couldn’t breathe from the intensity of the pleasure, couldn’t even form one coherent thought. When the shocks eased off, she was surprised she even survived it.
“That…that was amazing,” she breathed unsteadily. “No, it was more than just amazing. There are no words.”
Chad rose swiftly, cupping her cheeks. He kissed her deeply, and she moaned at the combined taste of him and her on his lips and tongue. When he pulled back, the concentrated lust in his gaze stole her breath.
“It was amazing.” He kissed her again. “You were amazing.”
She was? She hadn’t done anything other than turn to complete putty in his hands…and mouth. Hey, at least she’d stayed on her feet. That was amazing.
Kissing her once more, he let go and stepped back, his movements stiff. “I need…a minute.”
Bridget bit down on her lip, stopping the giggle that threatened to burst loose. She needed a nap and more of him—lots of him. “I’ll be here.”
“One minute.”
On the way to the bathroom, she watched him tear off his sweater and the plain white shirt underneath. Thick muscles moved under the taut skin of his back, drawing her attention hopelessly. At the door, he stopped and turned to her.
Forget six-pack. This man was rocking an eight-pack. Good God…
“Don’t go anywhere,” he said.
Bridget didn’t move, probably wasn’t capable of it, until he closed the door behind him. Then she moved to the bed and sat on the edge, her knees weak and shaky. Chad had been right. They hadn’t even had sex, and she’d never felt that way before. Part of her felt outrageously giddy and the other part… Yeah, she knew by the end of the night she was going to want to keep him.
Not good.
The water came on in the bathroom and the sound almost drowned under a sudden buzzing. She looked down and saw the screen on his phone light up. Her breath caught, and then her heart skipped a beat.
The name Stella flashed across the screen, along with a tiny thumbnail picture of a woman everyone who shopped at Victoria’s Secret recognized.
Bridget’s stomach dropped.
She knew she shouldn’t look at the text popping up in the preview screen. It was wrong, a violation of privacy and blah blah, but she looked because she was a girl, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
N town 2night & want 2 c u & repeat last wknd.
It didn’t take two brain cells to figure out what happened last weekend, even though the chit texted like a sixteen-year-old with ADHD. How old was Stella anyway? If Bridget remembered correctly, she was pushing, like, twenty-two and had been modeling since she was fifteen. Her career hit it big with the bombshell bra or something.
Before the text flickered out and was replaced by the black screen, Bridget got a good eyeful of the tiny picture of the model. Flaxen-haired and as tall as Bridget, the model probably weighed a buck ten. She was beautiful, with those lazy, smoky eyes that oozed sex appeal.
And Chad had been with her last weekend.
Realizing that, really understanding who he’d been with a mere seven days ago, doused her with ice water. Bridget’s panties, wherever they were, would probably serve as a dress for the Russian-born model.
She glanced over her shoulder at the neatly made bed and the coal black comforter. She couldn’t picture herself there now, splayed naked before Chad—before a man who brought home supermodels.
Super. Models.
What was she doing here? Besides having the two best orgasms of her life—truth—she was so out of her element it was embarrassing. She could barely rub two nickels together, but her thighs definitely had no problem doing so.
Bet Stella’s thighs were the size of Bridget’s arm.
Bridget stood and wrapped her arms around herself as her gaze narrowed on the closed bathroom door, and for some universally messed-up reason, her self-esteem hit the crapper and then kept plummeting.
