Page 40 of Punked By the Playmaker
When I dared to dip beneath the fabric, she shivered in my arms.
Barely an inch away from paradise, I was so close I could practically taste it.
Hmm, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. A little appetizer before the main course.
I was just about to roll her over so I could bury my face between her thighs when her whole body tensed.
“Levi?”
My fingers flexed, keeping her in place while I continued to dry hump her from behind. “Yeah, baby?”
There was a shriek, then cool air rushed over my heated skin when the covers were wrenched away.
Blinking, it took a minute for my lust-soaked brain to process that Arizona’s hot little body was no longer pressed against mine. Instead, she stood five feet away from the bed, her fists clenched by her sides as she visibly trembled.
“What the fuck, Levi?” she screamed.
My hand found my dick, squeezing to relieve the ache. “Right, not a morning person. I forgot.” Though an orgasm was sure to turn her attitude around.
A disbelieving huff sounded. “Are you kidding me right now? You think I’m this upset because of the time of day?”
“We could play the guessing game all day, so why don’t you just tell me what’s got your panties in a twist. Not that you’re wearing any from what I could tell.” Smirking, I winked.
“That!” Arizona pointed a shaking finger in my direction. “I told you no sex, and you just decided to take what you wanted anyway?”
My brows drew down, thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about? You were grinding that tight little ass against me and moaning like a porn star.”
She threw her arms wide. “I was sleeping, for God’s sake!”
“Must’ve been one hell of a dream,” I muttered under my breath.
If looks could kill, I would be six feet under.
Arizona opened her mouth, likely to continue tearing me a new asshole for unknowingly groping her while she was asleep—which, yeah, my bad, but again, how was I supposed to know?—but her lips slammed shut suddenly, and she sniffed the air.
“Do you smell that?”
I pulled in a breath through my nose. “Smells like eggs.” With both of the adults in the house currently in this room, I asked, “Does your kid know how to cook?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, does yours?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know? I just met her!”
Almost as if on cue, the smoke alarm went off, and both of us took off running, practically tripping over each other in our rush down the stairs.
I skidded into the kitchen on Arizona’s heels just in time to catch Austin tossing something containing dancing flames into the sink and turning on the faucet.
“What in the world is going on in here?” Arizona shouted over the incessant beeping coming from the ceiling. “Are you trying to burn the house down?”
I jumped into action, opening the nearest window and grabbing a hand towel to wave at the smoke alarm. Within thirty seconds, it mercifully quieted, and in the newfound silence, I was able to hear Maisie’s sniffles.
“I-I’m sorry,” she blubbered. “It’s all my fault.”
Crossing the distance between us, I put a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Arizona sighed, remorse written across her features. “Honey, we were more scared than mad. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
Maisie gestured toward a small appliance plugged in on the counter. “With the crutches, it’s hard to do things that require both hands, so I was going to do scrambled eggs on the stove and make pancakes in the air fryer. It must not have ever been used because when I turned it on to preheat, I didn’t realize there was a piece of cardboard in the basket, and it caught on fire.” Her chest heaved on a hiccup. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone on my first morning.”
