Most Valuable Playboy
“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.