Page 44 of Married to the Scottish Player
Why is he being so agreeable? Jeez. I turn my face into the pillow, mortified. Heat rolls off my cheeks. Burning. But before I can spiral deeper into internal panic, the sky outside cracks wide open.
Boom.
Mother Nature slams into the cabin like it’s trying to knock down the front door, remind us that we are vulnerable humans at her will. At her mercy ...
Lightning follows instantly, lighting the room for a full second like someone switched on a spotlight. I flinch. So does he.
Then—
“Well,” Maverick says, voice husky and way too calm for what’s about to happen. “That felt definitive.”
My eyes pop open. “What did?”
“The storm,” he says, already shifting closer. “It’s getting worse.”
“I mean, yes,technically, but—”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish.
One hand curls around my waist, slow and warm, pulling me gently toward him, and then his mouth is on mine—firm—as if he’s been waiting to devour me since the moment he saw me lying in that hammock.
And he has.
Oh, he has . . .
Immediately, I melt. He kisses like a man whomeans it—no hesitation, no nonsense, just heat and precision and a moan from my throat I can’t stop. He kisses like a man possessed. Or afraid. Like a man who needs a distraction and has found the perfect one in me.
I don’t mind.
I want this—whatever this is, even for tonight.
Chapter 10
Maverick
Her mouth tastes like peppermintis the first thing I think when our lips meet.The rain slamming outside the windows is like the world’s trying to break inis the other.
I couldn’t give two fucks.
Let the storm rage. Let the power stay off. The world can wait.
Annabelle feels incredible. Her lips. Her breath. The way her fingers slide up my neck, nails scratching at my scalp. So fucking good ...
I deepen the kiss, mouth slanting over hers, my tongue a slow, deliberate stroke. Nothing about this kiss is frantic, despite the blood leaving my brain and rushing straight to my dick. It strains against my shorts, desperate and needy, wanting to thrust.
Get sucked.
My hand slides, fingers grazing the flesh below the hem of her skimpy camisole. I’d caught a glimpse of her body when she walked into the room before climbing into bed, before we turned out our flashlights, plunging ourselves into darkness. Tiny shorts. Clingy tank top, fabric sheer enough to see through.
I wonder if she wore this on purpose, knowing it would torment me ...
My hand cups her breast through her shirt, the weight of her boob filling my palm, thumb moving to stroke her nipple. I circle it, round and round, hoping to drive her nuts. Wanting to get her wet.
It puckers.
Fuck, I wish the lights were on ...
But maybe it’s better this way. The dark makes every sound sharper. Every breath louder. Every inch of skin more sensitive.
