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  I lift her chin so she looks me in the eyes. “I won’t hurt you. I want to make you feel good.”

  “You do make me feel good,” she says, clasping my cheeks in her soft hands. “That’s what’s freaking me out.”

  I drop a kiss to her nose then dust my lips across hers in a promise. “Let me make you feel even better.”

  She shivers as she ropes her arms around my neck. Her eyes glitter with lust. “What would you do?” Her voice is feather-soft, an invitation.

  With her on my lap, looking at me as she plays with the ends of my hair, my entire body hums. I bury my face in her neck, blazing a trail of kisses that makes her squirm as I lick a path to her ear then back to her lips, whispering against them, “I want to kiss you . . . everywhere.”

  That last word hums between us. It slips back and forth between our mouths. With my lips, I press everywhere into hers, and she kisses it back to me.

  “Everywhere,” she repeats, her mouth sliding over mine. Her voice is raspy; the word sounds as if she’s been hypnotized by it. It sounds like a prayer.

  “Will you let me?” I ask, my fingers straying down her body to the hem of her shirt.

  She sits up straight. “What about you? Your vow of chastity?”

  “The way I see it, if I keep it in my pants, I can still touch you without breaking the vow.”

  Her eyes drift to my crotch. “I can’t touch you?”

  I shake my head. “This isn’t about me.”

  “Cooper.”

  “Violet.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Look, I want to be totally blunt—my dick isn’t coming out to play. But what part of I want to kiss you everywhere involves my dick? None of it. The things I want to do to you, I want to do with my tongue and my lips. Will you let me?”

  She inhales sharply. “Will I let you? How is that even a question?”

  “You still haven’t answered me,” I say, as she slips off my lap and scoots backward along the couch, moving her head toward the armrest. I slide her along the rest of the way, laying her flat across the cushions, setting a pillow under her head. I straddle her, my palms by her shoulders. I raise an eyebrow. “Do we have a yes, Violet?”

  “Are you really going to do this to me? And I can’t touch you?”

  “Do you want to touch me?” I ask, dragging my hard length between her legs. She’s so warm already, and I can feel the heat of her arousal through our clothes.

  She answers with a lift of her hips against me. She loops her arms around my neck. “I do want to touch you.”

  I bring my mouth to the hollow of her throat. I lick her there, drawing her taste into my mouth, then kiss along her neck, sucking on her jaw until her body arches into me again and again, begging me.

  “Another time for me. Let me touch you,” I whisper.

  “Yes. God, yes. Please.”

  We stop talking about getting hurt, and who’s touching who, and what any of this means once I unbutton her jeans. I tug them down her hips, and each inch is a revelation—of flesh, of curves, of femininity.

  “My God, it gets better and better.” Her purple panties are tiny, with illustrations of zebras on them. They’re unbearably sexy and ridiculously adorable at the same time. Like her. I love a good pair of black lace underwear, but I love these because she’s not trying too hard. She is sexy, and she is sweet because she wears purple panties with zebras.

  “Victoria’s Secret has some damn cute panties,” she says.

  I place my hands together in prayer. “Please God, I’ve been a good boy. Let me help pick next time you go shopping.”

  “Let’s see how good you can be,” she says, a naughty glint in her amber eyes.

  “Challenge accepted.”

  I peel her jeans down the rest of the way, savoring the view of her bare legs. She kicks off the jeans, and as I drag my gaze along her long, lush frame, my hands tremble. I want to do right by her. I want to worship her and make her feel adored.

  As I crawl back up her body, my hands trail along her legs, tracing a path up the soft flesh. She shudders in the wake of my touch then gasps when I drag a finger across the damp panel of her panties. My cock is thick and begging to come out. But that’s not in the cards. Tonight is for her pleasure and hers alone.

  “Can I convince you to take this shirt off?” I say tugging on the end of her jersey.

  She gives me a saucy look. “Doesn’t it turn you on to see me in your number?”

  I rise onto my knees and drag a hand over the bulge in my jeans. “Yes. Fucking immensely. But you know what else turns me on?”

  “What?”

  “Tits. Specifically, your tits. And I want to taste them and suck on them before I kiss my way down your body and settle between your legs, where I plan on introducing you to my tongue. And my tongue is very much looking forward to making your pussy’s acquaintance.”

  She laughs. “My God, when did you become so dirty? Wait. Don’t answer. I don’t want to know.”

  I wiggle an eyebrow. “You don’t like this side of me?”

  She reaches for the bottom of her shirt, tugs it off, then grabs her tight tank top and shucks that off, too. She’s down to a pink bra and purple panties, and I’m about ready to burst. I’m so turned on, wanting her so much. I ache everywhere.

  “I love this side of you, actually,” she says, as she reaches her arms behind her and unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor.

  The heavens part. Angels sing. Her tits are glorious. Perfect teardrops, rosy nipples tipped up, asking to be licked.

  “There is a god,” I murmur as I lean in to suck on a nipple.

  “Cooper,” she says, starting my name like an admonishment then turning it into a long, low moan of pleasure. “Cooper.”

  “You have world-class tits,” I say when I come up for air, palming those beauties. “They’re fucking astonishing.”

  “You’ve been checking them out?”

  “I have been an admirer of your breasts for a long, long time. They’re my happy zone.”

  She smiles and laughs. “Play with them, then.”

  “If I’m dreaming, I don’t want to wake up.”

  I’m a devoted aficionado of racks, and honestly, I could spend an entire day, hell, a week, staring at breasts. I’ve often lamented the lack of paid jobs in this area, and in my future utopian society, this sort of ogling work will indeed warrant financial compensation. For now, I’ll gladly accept a volunteer assignment gazing at these beauties.

  I lavish praise on her gorgeous globes with my tongue. “So sexy,” I murmur as I lick. “So delicious.” I pinch her nipples. “So perfect.” She writhes under me, moaning and groaning and grabbing my head in the valley of her tits. She’s as turned on from this as I am.

  I move down her body, drop my head between her legs and kiss her sweetness through the panel of her panties. I can taste her arousal through the cotton. I can feel it on the tip of my tongue. “I don’t think you can wait, either.”

  She rocks her hips up into me. “Cooper,” she begs.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Take them off.”

  I close my eyes for a second, letting the sheer sexiness of those three words imprint on me. When I open my eyes, I peel her panties to her ankles, and she helps kick them off. There’s something intensely erotic about the way she moves. How she lifts her hips so I can tug her clothes down, making it easier for me to undress her. Like she trusts me. It’s such a small thing, but it says we’re in this together.

  I see it in her eyes, too, as I slide my hands up her legs and gaze at her face. Her golden-brown eyes are trained on me—wide and guileless. At one point, she licks her lips, flicking the tip of her tongue over them. I reach her inner thighs, parting them, absolutely in lust with the view of her glorious pussy. One brunette landing strip and the rest is smooth. And there, right there, is where I want to be.

  She glistens. My throat burns as my hands inch closer. The sight of her arousal, all si
lky and wet, is so ridiculously enticing.

  I lower my face to her legs and kiss the inside of her thigh. She quivers. I kiss the other thigh. She shudders. “Does that hurt?”

  “No,” she murmurs.

  I slide my tongue close, so close, right along the edge of her pussy, teasing her. “This?”

  “God, no,” she says, lifting her hips, seeking me.

  “I told you I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean like that.”

  “I know what you mean.” I press the gentlest kiss to her clit. She draws a sharp breath. “But I want to show you I’ll do the opposite.”

  “Show me.”

  I skim my hands under her thighs and wrap my arms around them, my shoulders settling between. “Open your legs more for me.”

  She spreads wider, and I’m in heaven at the first taste.

  She’s so slick and wet, from the way we kiss, how we talk, how we touch. I explore all that sweetness with my tongue, lapping her up, flicking the tip against the delicious rise of her clit. She grabs my hair, clutching it like a lifeline, holding on so damn hard.

  And then I bury my face between her legs, licking and sucking and kissing. Devouring.

  She’s mostly quiet at first, and I register that she’s a soft moaner. I grin wickedly. Because now I know this private detail. Violet is a moaner, and I love that. It’s like I’ve been given the secret keys to her body. I have the code, and I’m unlocking her. She’s a rocker, too, because soon she rocks into my face, holding my hair like a pair of goddamn reins. I fucking love her abandon. I love how hot and wet she is, how good she tastes, how her noises turn to feral groans when I bring my mouth to her clit and suck hard on that gorgeous little diamond of pleasure.

  Her noises turn into something else. My name. “Cooper,” she calls out, and it sounds husky, raspy.

  I lick her faster, learning her cues, discovering how she likes it. I bring a finger to her center, sliding across her slickness to see if she wants to fuck my finger, too, and she goes wild as I slide into her, her legs clamping tight around my head like a vise, and I love it. She tugs my hair harder.

  “Please,” she whimpers hoarsely, then it turns into a chant, like a plea. Her hands grip harder, she thrusts faster, and my world spins further away from me.

  She’s so close, and I’m so turned on. A blast of pleasure ricochets down my body, an overwhelming reminder of how much I want to be buried inside her. I’m practically dry humping the couch, I want her so much. I want to fuck her and kiss and touch her and do everything to her.

  But I can’t. So I kiss her pussy that way. So she knows I want it all. I devour her sweetness.

  “Coming,” she cries in the faintest voice, and then I grip her ass and drink her as her taste floods my tongue, making me high—higher—on her.

  When Violet comes, she detonates. She writhes and pants and screams, and it’s beautiful and primal. She can’t stop saying my name, and it sounds intoxicating on her tongue. “Cooper, oh God, Cooper, oh God, Cooper.”

  Yeah, I like this chant. I like it a lot.

  I slow my moves, easing her down with a final soft kiss. Then I move away from her sensitive clit and kiss her hip bone, her navel, up to her breasts. She cradles my head between them, lacing her fingers through my hair.

  “Cooper, this is my happy zone,” she says softly.

  “Mmmm. Me, too.” I look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes are hazy. Her cheeks are flushed. Her expression is one I want to remember forever—my woman, thoroughly satisfied. “Can I do that again?”

  “You better,” she says playfully.

  “How about now?”

  She gives me a look like I can’t be serious. “Now?”

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Please,” she says her voice beautifully desperate, then she pushes me down her body. That move right there, her hands shoving me back to her sweetness, is my new favorite part of the night, as she makes it patently clear where she wants me.

  I return to her, and I kiss her once more, going slower, taking my time, learning how she likes it when she’s already had it once. I work her up to a second time, kissing, licking, building, gliding, until she flies off the edge once more, thanks to my fingers and my mouth and my dirty desire to taste her pleasure all over again.

  Afterward, I scoot next to her on the couch and wrap an arm around her. She sighs and snuggles against me, her naked body pressed to my clothed one. “You’re like a limp noodle,” I murmur, loving her post-orgasmic state of bliss.

  “My noodleness is all your fault,” she teases.

  I move her hair off her neck and press a gentle kiss to her soft skin. Another sweet sigh is my reward. The lights of the tree are flashing blue and white against the window when “Wrecking Ball” begins, and I groan.

  “C’mon, karaoke king. Sing it with me,” she says.

  “You know how I feel about Miley.”

  “But this song. It’s so epic. Just the chorus at least?”

  And seriously, with her naked in my arms, how can I not do her bidding?

  A little later, she gathers her clothes as if she’s going to leave. I furrow my brow. “What’s this?”

  “Don’t you want me to go?”

  I sit up straight. “Um, no.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Seriously? Why on earth would I want you to go?”

  “Because . . .” She flaps her arms, as if she’s gesturing to us and what’s happening.

  “Because . . . you can’t fly home? Are you trying to fly, Violet?”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I just figured . . .”

  “That I’m a playboy who’ll kick you out,” I say, and grab her waist and tackle her.

  She laughs.

  “You forgot I can tackle,” I say, tugging her under me on the couch. “I don’t just throw. I can tackle, and pin you, and keep you.”

  “Yeah?”

  With her under me, I stare into her eyes. “Can you stay?”

  “You really want me to stay?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, I’m lying. Get out.”

  She tries to swat me, but I pin her arm. “Cooper.”

  “Stay. Just stay.”

  “Why do you want me to?”

  “I want you to sleep next to me. Why is that so hard to understand?”

  “Okay, I get it, but I don’t have my sleep shirt. I don’t want to break the routine, and I don’t want to sleep in something I wore all day, especially since it’s kind of dirty after you hugged me.”

  “You say all this like I don’t have a perfect solution to that problem.”

  Thirty minutes later, she’s in my bed, wearing nothing but one of my jerseys. Honestly, if there’s a sexier sight than her in my bed wearing my number, I won’t believe it.

  20

  My day off is glorious, even though Violet leaves before the sun rises. She dusts a quick kiss to my forehead, whispering, “I need to open the salon by eight.”

  I’m so exhausted from playing ball yesterday, as I am every Monday morning during the season, that I barely manage to drag my ass out of bed to say goodbye when she takes off. I put on my game face a couple hours later when I hit the links with my boys on a crisp December morning.

  That’s when the real pretending comes in. Ironic that I’m not faking a single moment with Violet, but now I need to act like I didn’t do unspeakable things to my best friend’s sister when I meet him for a ten a.m. tee time.

  Thank fuck Trent and I aren’t playing solo, because it’s hard to look him in the eye. Some voice in the back of my head tries to speak up, telling me that sooner or later I’ll need to come clean with him. Trent is my rock. He’s my solid, steady best friend in the whole damn world. I grew up with him, sneaked beers with him, shot hoops with him, and leaned on him. Hell, I was the best man in his wedding two years ago, and Violet was a bridesmaid. And damn, did she ever look stunning
in a pale yellow dress with little straps that showed off her shoulders.

  There I go again. Drifting back to her. I chase away thoughts of the woman I want and try to focus on being in the moment with my friends. Today’s not the day to fess up.

  Jones adjusts his glove as he chats with his brother. Nearby, Rick and his best friend from college down their morning coffee, while Harlan ambles over to us, along with his brother-in-law. This is our regular crew, and we try to play once a month.

  “Hey, man, any word on the contract?” Trent asks as he finds his club.

  “It’s anyone’s guess. The GM might be waiting to see if we make the playoffs. I’m trying my best to keep it out of my mind.”

  “The real judge of a quarterback is whether he takes his team to the post-season,” Trent says absently. He takes a few practice swings as if he hasn’t just hit the nail on the head with regard to the waiting game I’m playing with the GM.

  “Don’t I know it,” I say, a small prickle of nerves skating up my back. I’d really like to know if I’m going to be in San Francisco after this season. It’s entirely possible the Renegades won’t pick me up, and I’ll have to fly where the free agent skies take me. Baltimore, Buffalo, Houston, New Orleans—who knows? Tension winds through me. I’m a lucky bastard to play in my hometown, and I don’t want to give up seeing my friends and family this often. I raise my gaze to my teammates. I love these fuckers, too. I want to stick with them. I want to take them all the way into January and beyond.

  “Guess that means you’ll be keeping up the dog-and-pony show with Violet for a little longer?”

  My golf bag is suddenly the most interesting thing in the universe, and I take my sweet time hunting for my driver. “As long as we have to, I guess. You cool with that?”

  “I’m cool with it. Even though it’s really fucking weird to see you with her.”

  I look up. “Because I’m such an asshole, right?” I say with a mischievous grin.