The Player's Club: Scott by Cathy Yardley Page B

get here sooner,” he said against her mouth, his hips rocking against hers.
    “You’re here now.” Which she could barely believe.
    “You left the window open.” He sounded surprised, pleased. Hungry. He reached between them, his fingertips stroking down her stomach before reaching lower. He’d find her wet, she thought. She was slick for him, eager. She parted her thighs as he shuddered.
    “I wanted to do this the first time I saw you,” he said, and she laughed.
    “When I was threatening you with a golf club?”
    His chuckle against her skin was like silk, and he leaned lower, kisses circling her aching, sensitive nipples. He drew one into his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue, and she gasped, arching her back involuntarily, filling his mouth with her. Each pulling suck made the wet heat between her legs pulse, and she rubbed her thighs together, whimpering. She felt the bead of wetness at the head of his cock, tracing against her thigh, and she tried to angle him closer to where she really needed him.
    He pulled away, breathless. “I wanted you,” he repeated, and his eyes looked almost mystical in their intensity, “ever since I saw you in the moonlight.”
    “Scott,” she echoed, and kissed him hard.
    He pulled away long enough to grab a foil packet, and she watched as he rolled on the condom with hands that shook. She knew how he felt. It was still unreal—still dreamlike. But at the same time, she couldn’t think. She could only feel.
    And she felt as if she was on fire.
    When he covered her body with his, she parted her thighs, almost crying with gratitude when she felt the broad tip of his cock pressing into her. Her hand reached down to guide him. Slowly, he stroked along her passage, dueling with her now erect clit.
    She cried out, arching like a bow handle, and he shuddered as he moved lower, pressed deep, her already slick pussy encompassing him.
    She gasped at the feeling of his hard, long length filling her, and for a second, her mind went blank. It had been too long since she’d had sex. Way too long. And she couldn’t remember it ever feeling like this.
    He moved back, then surged forward, the friction against her clit and G-spot nearly made her scream. She tilted her pelvis up, her knees hooking on his hips as she dragged her nails down his back, crushing her breasts against his chest.
    “Amanda,” he groaned as he moved into her, with long, slow, gliding strokes that drove her mad.
    More, more, more, her mind chanted, and she lifted herself to meet each thrust. She urged him forward, shifting, kissing whatever she could reach.
    His measured strokes got faster. Their breathing was ragged, urgent.
    Soon, they were moving with crazed energy. She could feel it starting in the pit of her stomach, that quivering pleasure that seemed to radiate like an explosion.
    Then the orgasm tore through her, and she shrieked in pleasure, clutching around him spasmodically, the amazing sensations propelling her mindlessly forward in unbelievable pleasure.
    He shouted in response, and his hips rocked into her, pounding against her…and to her shock, another orgasm blasted, an aftershock of the first, almost as powerful. She bit his shoulder, shuddering against him as he drove against her.
    In the quivering aftermath, she felt stunned. As though she might wake up, at any moment. He held her tight, then eased out of her, heading to the bathroom to take care of the condom.
    Now what?
    She was wide-awake, even though she wondered if she was still dreaming.
    Would he just leave via the window? Pretend that it was just a dream?
    She’d never done a fling before. Isn’t that what they usually did?
    He came back to bed, still naked, climbing in beside her. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, his voice husky, “but I’m exhausted.”
    “It’s almost four in the morning,” she conceded, thrilled that he wouldn’t be leaving. “Of course you’re tired.”
    “Aren’t you?” he said,