Page 58 of Play the Last Card
I know I should stop this.
I know I should tell her but my dick is in charge now.
Just once then I’ll tell her. I need to get her the fuck out of my system and clear my goddamn head. I don’t think once will be enough but this week has been a mind fuck. I haven’t seen her or spoken to her all that much. I haven’t worked on my strategy to come clean. All I have been doing is watching the stupid news coverage about her Pops and learning that her family is, or was, a big fucking deal in the football world.
It broke my heart to see her so heavy and defeated when she got out of her car tonight. She had this sad look on her face—broken, and tired, and grief-stricken—that had made me want to ensure she knew she isn’t alone. She never would be again
We all have things that we should have let go of but still carry. That’s why I shared about my birth mother.
I want Ivy to know that I’m just as vulnerable as she is.
I need her to know that.
Maybe if she knows that, she’ll remember it when I tell her who I am.
When I tell her I’ve pretty much been lying to her for a little over a month.
She presses onto her toes and her hips press into mine, trying to close the distance. A small whimper echoes through the air as I gently skim my teeth against her pulse point and I’ve had enough.
All thoughts of stopping leave my head as the cinnamon scent of her skin fogs my brain.
I grab two fistfuls of her ass and lift. Ivy’s legs wrap around my waist and tighten as I make my way over to the stairs.
Her grip is tight like she’s scared we’ll fall but she doesn’t stop kissing me and she doesn’t let me pull away. But when I readjust my grip on her at the top of the stairs, she unhooks her ankles and tries to wriggle free.
“If you’re trying to get me to put you down, it’s not happening,” I say digging my fingers into her ass even harder. For a second, I get the urge to ease up so I don’t mark her skin but then my cock twitches at the thought and I decide against easing up my grip.
I want to mark her.
To make sure that anyone who sees it—even though they fucking shouldn’t be staring at my girl’s ass—knows Ivy is mine.
From tonight, she’s mine.
Hell, she was mine the moment I laid eyes on her in that stupid sports bar.
“Aren’t I too heavy?,” Ivy says breathlessly.
“Please,” I tell her, tightening my grip as if to prove my point. “I bench two of you. Don’t worry, baby. I won’t drop you.” I pull back and catch her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed red and her bottom lip is pulled between her perfect teeth. Then I wink at her.
Ivy erupts into a fit of giggles.
“You did not justwinkat me?”
She digs her hands into my hair and I shiver at the feeling of her nails scraping against my scalp. Her fingers twist in the hair at the base of my neck like she has done in every one of our high-school-like make out sessions lately. Fuck, but it feels so good.
We edge into her room but I don’t bother with shutting the door.
No need, we’re the only ones in the house.
I lower her onto the bed, following her down and crawling over her body. Her chest is heaving and she’s sucking in air like she’s trying to calm herself down. I don’t want her to calm down.
The fire I’m feeling reflects back at me through her eyes.
I stand up, eyes trailing down the soft curves of her body.
She’s so … real.
When the season ended last year, I had a fling with a cheerleader on the LA team. The girl was tiny, and blonde, and made of muscle. She’d been flexible but there had been nothing there. Nothing to sink my hands into, to massage, tofeel.