Page 41 of Against the Clock
“I sure did,” she says, and to my relief, there’s a note of amusement in her voice. “You know, you’re pretty full of yourself, Daniel Harrison, quarterback.”
“I’d rather you were full of me,” I say without thinking. Dammit.
She sucks in a breath, though, and my body goes tight with desire.
“Is that why you called me tonight? To dirty talk?”
My eyes fly open at the husky note in her voice.
“Why, is that what you want me to do?” I ask. I didn’t plan on that, no, but hell, if she wants me to talk dirty to her over the phone, there’s no way in hell I’m going to say no.
“Just curious,” she says.
Now that she’s mentioned it, though, I’m not going to let her off that easy. No fucking way. Shit. Now it’s all I can think about.
“Are you going to wear my jersey tomorrow, Kelsey?” I ask, my voice a low rumble.
“Are you going to ask me nicely?”
I grin. “Kelsey, please wear my jersey tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she agrees, her voice soft. Fuck, but I like when she sounds like that.
“Kelsey… why don’t you go put on that jersey? I’d love to see you in it. Please.”
My free hand fists around the sheets. My cock’s hard as can be, but I’m not going to touch myself. Not the night before a game. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, maybe it’s a myth, but there’s no way I’m doing that.
I might just be about to drive myself crazy over Kelsey, though.
“K.” The phone goes dead and I’m left staring at it, seconds sliding together.
The phone dings quietly in my hand and I tap the screen, enlarging the picture she’s sent.
“Fuck,” I grit out.
She’s wearing my jersey, alright.
A full-length mirror leans up against a wall. Kelsey’s centered in the frame, holding the navy jersey down with one hand. Bare legs stretch up into it, the jersey hiding the rest of her. Tousled sandy-blonde hair hangs low over one shoulder, partially obscuring my number. White teeth bite her bottom lip, and her brown eyes are just as beautiful as I remember.
For the first time in my life, I’m regretting my no-masturbation-before-game-day rule.
I’m hard as a rock.
Another picture chimes through, and I groan as I devour the image. Kelsey, the phone aimed over one shoulder, a flirtatious look on her face. This time, though, it’s from the back, the camera aimed over one shoulder.
“Fuck me,” I repeat.
My name’s fully visible, and so is the bottom of her curvy ass.
This woman is going to drive me crazy, and I’m going to love every minute of it.
I call her again.
“What do you think?” she asks, and I laugh.
“I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” I tell her. “You make my name look good.”
“Is that right?” she asks, and the weight of my words hang heavy in the distance between us.