Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(35)
Author: Lauren Blakely

She turns around, uncrosses her legs, and mirrors me, kneeling. “You wrote that scene for me, didn’t you?”

I nod. My throat is dry. I can barely speak.

“That day you saw me with Shelby outside the theater, right?”

“Yes.” I swallow. I’m a f**king open book now.

“Did you write it because it makes the show better? Or did you write it for me?”

I close my eyes briefly. I’ve never had an actress question me like this. Then I look at her. “I put the scene in the show because the show needed it,” I answer with as much confidence as I can muster, grabbing the reins from her.

“But you’re also kind of into my hair, aren’t you?”

Now she’s in control in again. My chest rises and falls and she’s looking at me with such a challenging stare, and so much want in her blue eyes. Her breath is staccato, like mine. She raises her hands behind her head, pulling out the rubber band, shaking out her hair, and letting it fall around her face.

I am undone by her.

My hands are twitching to touch her. I am aching to taste her lips.

“Do it,” she breathes out in a voice so low it’s barely audible, but it’s all I need.

I place my hands on her face and cup her cheeks, and she closes her eyes and sighs. Then my hands thread through her hair and I pull her to me, pressing my lips to hers again. I am unable to stay away from her.

Her lips are soft and full and greedy. But I like to lead, so I kiss her deeply, possessively, twining my hands through her glorious hair, as I trace the soft underside of her lips with the tip of my tongue, eliciting the sexiest moan from her that I kiss away. I nibble on her bottom lip, and she gasps. “Davis.”

My name alone sends me into another realm, and before I know it I am tugging on her hair and roaming my mouth down the gorgeous column of her neck, and right before I reach her shoulder blade, I press my teeth to her skin, lightly, but heavy enough to make the smallest of marks.

“Ouch,” she says, but the word tapers off, and the next thing she says is more, in a breathy whisper that turns into a groan of pleasure as I give her what she wants. “Do you know why I want to have my hands in your hair?” I say in a hoarse voice.

“Why?”

“Because I want to pull on your hair as I f**k you. I want to bend you over and take you against the wall, and I want to gather all your hair in my hands and hear you cry out.”

“Oh God,” she moans, and her mouth opens in a gorgeous, perfect O that sends my body spiraling further into such dark longing for her. “Do you think I’d like it?” she asks, playing along.

“You’d love it. Because I’d always make sure it was good for you. And because you like it a little rough.”

“I think I would too.”

“And I think you’d want me to tell you what to do. To direct you.”

“Yes,” she says, panting, as I bring a hand down to the little pearl buttons on her sweater. “I want to bite these off,” I whisper in her ear, my breath hot on her skin and making her shiver. “But I think you like this sweater. I think you wore it for me. Did you wear it for me?”

I nibble my way down her neck to the hollow of her throat. She gasps out a yes, as I tug on the bottom of her sweater, making room for my hand to slide across her belly. God, her skin is so soft.

“Were you thinking I’d like the way your br**sts look in it? That I’d like you in red?”

“Yes.”

She grabs my shoulders, and slams me on top of her, her beautiful body against the floorboards.

“This works too though,” I tease.

She laughs, but then turns serious again. “What else do you want to do to me?”

“I want to go down on you on the piano. I want to lift you up and put you on the baby grand, and push your skirt to your h*ps and tell you to spread your legs for me,” I tell her, and she responds by opening her legs, and grabbing my ass, so we are in perfect missionary except for that little problem of clothes.

“Do you think I’d do what you say?” she says breathily, as she thrusts her h*ps against me.

“Yeah,” I say confidently. “I think you’d spread your legs for me, and let me taste you.”

“Do you think I’ll taste good?”

“I bet you taste like sin and heaven at the same time. I bet you taste f**king delicious coming on my tongue.” I look straight into her eyes, and they are full of fire and lust. “And I’m going to find out right now, Jill.”

I offer her a hand and pull her up, bringing her to the piano at stage right. Then I take off her boots, unzip her jeans, and leave them in a pile on the floor. I lift her up and gently lower her on top of the piano.

Her eyes widen with the realization that I wasn’t joking.

“Are you really going to?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. The last thing I want is for you to stop.”

“Good. Now let me admire you.”

I step back as if I’m appraising her. Red lace panties, red sweater, and the look in her eyes is all she wears.

“Take off your sweater,” I tell her.

“Don’t you want to take it off of me?”

“Yes. But I want to watch you undress more.”

She nods, and reaches down to the waistband, crossing her hands, and tugging her sweater over her head. She wears a white strappy tank.

“Now the tank.”

She inhales sharply and does as I ask, tossing it into the growing pile of her clothes on the stage. She’s wearing only her matching bra and underwear and she’s a sight to behold in all that red. My eyes roam her body, memorizing her skin, her curves, the way she’s so sexy in anything and nothing. I’m so hard right now it hurts, and I know I’ll be taking care of myself later. Still, I touch myself through my jeans once. “What you do to me, Jill…” I say, trailing off.

Then I stalk over to her and place my hands on her thighs. She quivers as I touch her, and arches her back instantly. I run my thumbs along her inner thighs, and she’s gasping. Then I reach her panties, and trace a finger over the thin fabric between her legs that can’t hide how turned on she is. I circle my index finger across the wet spot that reveals her need to me. She grabs my hair, and tries to pull me closer.

I meet her gaze, and her eyes are fiery.

“Please stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing you.”

“You are.”

“I would only be teasing you if I planned to stop.”