Page 72 of Punked By the Playmaker
“Levi!” Maisie’s shout from nearby popped the bubble of our tender moment, and we broke apart.
Plastering herself against the far wall of the shower, Arizona hissed, “Shut the door!”
With one last look at my naked wife, I sealed her inside and went to meet my daughter where she stood on the threshold of the owner’s suite.
Maisie stared at me expectantly. “Did Arizona know where it is?”
Fuck. The little masturbation performance I’d walked in on made me forget the reason I’d come looking for Arizona in the first place.
“Uh.” I gripped the back of my neck. “I haven’t had the chance to ask her yet.”
My daughter eyed me with suspicion, having no doubt noticed my wet clothing. “What have you been doing all this time, then?”
The truth? Developing feelings for my wife.
“He was waiting for me to get out of the shower.” Arizona glided out of the ensuite, dressed in a plush robe.
Accepting that explanation at face value, Maisie eagerly asked, “Have you seen my permission slip for the field trip?”
“You know what? I think it’s on the desk in the home office.”
My girl visibly sagged in relief. “Thank you.” Then she was gone.
By the time my daughter yelled up the stairs that she’d found it and both kids had shouted their goodbyes as the front door slammed shut, Arizona had disappeared into the walk-in closet. Stripping off the wet T-shirt plastered to my chest, I followed her into what amounted to our personal dressing room.
My wife was seated at the vanity, wearing only a black lace bra and matching panties as she pulled on a pair of pantyhose that I wanted to shred with my teeth.
“Crisis averted?” she asked, eyes firmly fixed on her task.
I leaned against the doorjamb, a rumble vibrating through my chest in response.
Arizona stood to adjust the waistband of the sheer tights, a corner of her lips twitching. “You owe me an orgasm for the oneyou stole from me in the shower, but it’ll have to wait until later. I have to get to work.”
Shucking my shorts, I stalked toward her naked, forcing her backward until I had her pinned against the built-in dressers lining the wall. My lips found the side of her neck. “I only need two minutes.”
Fingers carved a path through my hair as she clutched at my head. “Tempting.”
I nipped her earlobe, tugging on it with my teeth. “Fuck tempting. Let me make it a reality.”
Her grip tightened on my hair before releasing, and she shoved at my chest with both hands. “Trust me, if I had the time, but I don’t.”
Reluctantly, I withdrew. “Tonight, then?”
“Tonight,” Arizona agreed before turning her back to me and selecting a sexy-as-sin black number off the rack.
Stepping up behind her, I pressed one last kiss to her bare shoulder. “I’ll be hard all day thinking about it.”
I might be a married man instead of a playboy these days, but I still loved to fuck, and I had months’ worth of pent-up sexual frustration to take out on my wife.
“Take one and put it on your right wrist.” Coach walked around the locker room with a basket of what looked like fitness trackers, passing them out to each player.
“What are these?” Jagger asked, affixing the band around his wrist as instructed.
An evil grin curved on Davenport’s face. “Shock bracelets.”
“The fuck?” Dylan shouted. “Like the shit they put on dogs so they don’t leave the yard?”
Coach snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”
