Taryn Leigh Taylor - Playing Dirty

Lainey kissed him, desperate to keep control, and he drew her to his body—his hard, unyielding body. He was a phenomenal kisser, she decided, slanting her mouth against his. His five o’clock shadow had turned into full-fledged stubble at this late hour, and the rasp of it against her face made her hotter. That little bit of pain-edged pleasure kept things from being too perfect, and made this beautiful train wreck exactly what she was looking for.

Then his hands breached the hem of her tank and she stopped dissecting her questionable life choices and focused instead on the exquisite sensation of his warm palms against her torso.

Impatience surged along with lust, and she tugged on his black T-shirt, revealing abs. Pecs. Arms. He let go of her to tug the shirt over his head and dropped it on the counter.

She pulled him close. Bit his neck, then soothed it with her tongue.

Oh, God, he felt good. Big. Strong. Like he could handle what she was dishing out.

She wanted sex. She wanted to punish him for making her feel this way. For making her want things she’d convinced herself she shouldn’t want.

He fisted one hand in her hair, pulled her head back so he could work her mouth. The moment of pain was swept away in something else when his free arm pulled her tight to him.

At five-ten, she’d sometimes considered herself too tall. Right now, though, she was glad for every single inch that put their bodies in such perfect alignment. She wrapped her arms around him, clawing at his back as their tongues dueled, both of them vying for control. When they finally came up for air, Lainey pulled away, needing skin-to-skin contact more than she needed resolution to this petty battle.

Lainey stepped back and yanked her tank top over her head, tossing it on the counter beside his T-shirt.

Cooper’s eyes flared as his gaze traced her body, pausing long enough on the contents of her lacy black bra that her nipples tightened at the hungry look in his eyes.

Her breasts weren’t overly large, but he didn’t seem disappointed—he seemed the opposite, really. And even as her body melted at how beautiful that made her feel, she cursed the inward show of weakness.

Get it together, Lainey. It’s just sex.

In a move designed to wrest back control, she reached out and placed her hand against his skin, over his heart. His muscles tensed under her palm. His chest was chiseled and his skin was tanned, even now, in the middle of winter, and Lainey couldn’t help but notice that he put the statues she’d studied in her Art History class to shame. Cold marble had nothing on flesh and blood.

She felt the hitch in his breath as she moved her hand, trailing her fingertips down his sternum, across each ridge of his abs, like a mini roller coaster that led down to his belt buckle.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked, tugging at the black leather.

God, she hoped he had protection. She didn’t want to retrieve her purse from the locker. She needed this. It had been so long since she’d had sex, since she’d felt that sweet thrill of arousal, since she’d let herself feel anything.

Lainey didn’t realize she was holding her breath as Cooper reached behind him. A moment later, he pulled a foil square from his wallet and set both items on the counter beside her right hip. She turned to face them, eyes focused on the condom.

Fucking hockey players, she thought, but there was no heat to the words, and only the slightest bit of resignation. Always so damn sure of themselves.

She lifted her head, and when her eyes met Cooper’s in the mirrored backsplash, a shiver of anticipation zipped down the length of her spine. To her surprise, he stepped behind her, and the heat radiating between her back and his stomach was enough to make her knees wobbly. Then he reached around her hip. Thanks to their reflection, she knew he was going to touch her a split second before he did, but the warm, heavy weight of his palm on her stomach still wrung a surprised gasp from her.

In the scratched-up mirror above a bottle of Crown, Cooper’s gaze was locked on her parted lips, and her tongue darted out to moisten them. His groan rumbled against her back as the pressure of his hand pulled her tight against him.

The dual sensation of watching Cooper’s hand trek down toward the waistband of her jeans and the feeling of his calloused palm sliding down the sensitive skin of her stomach was too much.

Lainey swore as she let her head fall back against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Everything slipped away—the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the stale smell of beer, the niggling thought that she was in way too deep—everything but Cooper. There was nothing but his solid presence behind her, his fingers breaching her jeans and the warm twist of sexual anticipation thrumming through her body. She reached for her belt, unbuckling it to give him better access and expelled a stuttered breath of pleasure as he accepted the invitation and his hand sank lower, fingers flirting with the lacy hem of her underwear.

She reached for the button, but a familiar twinge shot through her right wrist as she grasped the denim.

Not now, she thought, even as the strength in her thumb waned. Not right now.

Lainey squeezed her eyes shut, focusing past the pins and needles. She just needed to undo her pants. She didn’t want to think about hockey right now. Didn’t want the memories to swamp her. She needed to feel whole, to feel okay, just for this moment.

Cooper’s breath against her ear soothed the panic that was blooming through the lust.

“I got it.”

And then his right hand covered hers, and the button popped open before he tugged down the zipper. She was ready for him before his hand slid under her thong and then, finally, came the slow, sweet friction she craved. She might have gasped, she wasn’t sure, because she couldn’t think through the pleasure that swamped her.

All she knew was that his touch was as hot as he was. She could feel his arousal against the small of her back, his breath on her cheek, and his fingers...oh, God, his fingers.

“Yes.” The word came out in a weird half moan, half whisper that would have mortified her if her brain were functioning on more than the most basic level. Cooper slipped one broad finger inside her and his groan of pleasure, along with that exploratory thrust, made her knees give out. His arm tightened on her waist, kept her steady even as his words stole her balance.

“I can’t wait to be inside you.”

He proved he meant it, pressing two fingers into her now, and she was so worked up that the increased pressure had her close, so damn close. She rocked her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm that increased the pressure on her G-spot. Cooper picked up the hint, changing the angle and mimicking her pace.

She reached back, needing to cling to something—raking her nails against his denim-clad thighs as she fisted her hands, desperate to anchor herself in a world spinning out of control.

Cooper ducked his head and pressed his lips against her neck. “I got you. Just let me drive for a while.” He twisted his wrist and just when she thought she might die of lust, he pressed the heel of his hand against her clit.

“Oh God, oh fuck!” Lainey couldn’t stop the curse words. Unlike most guys, who changed things up when the going got good, Cooper doubled down, and when the sweet shock of orgasm radiated through her, Lainey leaned back against him and, taking his advice, she let go while he drove.

* * *

JESUS.

Cooper was desperate for her. Turned on and rock-hard and so fucking desperate.

He’d told her he couldn’t wait to be inside her, and he’d thought he meant it—he had meant it—but now that he’d watched her come apart in his arms? The words he’d used weren’t basic enough; they were too polite for what he needed. He was ravenous for her. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed.