Page 69 of Married to the Scottish Player
Instead, I melt deeper into the mattress, into him.
“Want me to get you aspirin?” he murmurs.
I turn just enough to peek at him over my shoulder. His hair is a mess, dark strands curling boyishly over his forehead.Ugh.
“You’re not hungover?” I croak out skeptically.
He grins, perfectly normal looking, one side of his mouth lifting like he’s proud. “Scottish constitution.”
I roll onto my back with a groan. “You are so annoying.”
Those large hands of his begin rubbing my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the base of my neck, kneading and working my tight muscles.
“Yes. More,” I groan, eyelashes fluttering. “Keep doing that and I might actually forgive you for not being as miserable as I am.”
His low chuckle has me tingling despite my pounding temples. I crack one eye open to glare at him. “How are you so chipper? We dranka lotlast night.”
“Because I was smart enough to down two glasses of water before bed.”
“Where was my water?”
He rubs slow, deliberate circles along the small of my back now. “Relax—I had you drinking it too.”
“Oh.” I blink again. “I don’t remember that.”
His hand slips under the hem of his T-shirt that I’m wearing, tracing lazy patterns on my hip bone that soon have me squirming. “You’re too cute when you’re hungover.”
“You’re too horny when you’re hungover.”
Maverick shrugs, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck. “Guess I am.” His hand eases its way to my front side ... glides up my stomach ... cups my boob. “How are you wearing clothes?”
His guess is as good as mine.
“I want to look at your tits,” he murmurs. “Get naked—you won’t have to do any of the work.”
Promises, promises . . .
I let him strip the tee off, a pillow princess of the most royal kind, arms flopping to the sides as he sits up to take a better look.
Even hungover, even with the world spinning slightly, he makes me feel like I’m the only thing he sees.Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than wrapped around me like this, all bare skin and breathless murmurs.
This is what? Day five? Two more to go before I go back across the lake to my dumpy, boring apartment. Back to reality.
Maverick dips his shoulders, lowering his face to my chest, and I watch as his tongue languidly licks one of my nipples, his mouth sucks on it until my lower half becomes wanton and needy and greedy.
His stubble grazes my skin as his lips drag lower, tongue circling lazily before he switches sides, lavishing the same attention on my other breast. My back arches off the mattress, seeking more, my fingers plowing into his hair as he kisses his way down my stomach.
I know where he’s going, and I want it bad.
The sun’s barely up, light filtering through the blinds in golden slats, casting shadows across the sheets and the planes of his back as hesettles his shoulders between my thighs, looking up at me like I’m the entire reason he woke up this morning.
Gives my pussy a lick.
In that moment, I don’t feel hungover.
I feel high.
“I didn’t even like you a few days ago,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his messy hair. “And now look at me.”
