When she finally whispers, “To be near you,” I know there isn’t anywhere else she’s sleeping tonight than in my penthouse—specifically, my bed.
When I wrap my hands underneath her ass, she releases a soft squeal, and I carry her into my bedroom, laying her down on top of the duvet.
She gazes up at me as I take a step back, scrubbing a palm over my mouth to center myself. Every warning and desperate battle to stay away—none of it holds any weight as I observe the way Billie looks sprawled out on my bed, a vision even better than I’ve pictured a thousand times over.
“I can’t touch you tonight.” My voice feels foreign and mainly because I hate the words that I’m speaking. Keeping my hands to myself though is exactly what I should be doing, so I’ll settle for the warmth of her body next to mine.
I pop the first couple of buttons on my dress shirt, but the tension between us doesn’t echo the declaration I just made. It feels like I’m taking Billie to bed so I can slide inside her and stay there all night, and by the way she’s looking at me, I know that’s exactly what she wants.
“I don’t have any pajamas.”
Pulling off my shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket next to my dresser, I open a drawer and pull out a white Blades training shirt. This one is too big even for me, so it’ll drown Billie’s petite frame.
She climbs off the bed and takes it from me, eyes raking over my skin. This isn’t the first time she’s seen me without a shirt, but it is, without question, the first time she’s appreciated my naked chest in this way.
Pausing over my tattoo, dainty fingers trace the ink etched into my left pec; she must not have seen it when I was in the shower. Understandable, given that my hard cock was also on display.
“When did you get the tattoo?”
At the feel of her touch, I want to snatch that training top from her hand and demand that she sleep naked.
“And what does it mean?” she tags on.
I close my eyes, trying to get a grip on myself, along with the raging boner fighting against the zipper on my pants.
“I got it in the offseason. Figured it was time to get some ink, and Tommy recommended an artist.”
She twists her lips in thought. “A rising sun normally means a new beginning. Considering when you had this done, I guess that meaning tracks.”
When she drops her hand and heads for the bathroom, I wait until the door closes behind her before releasing a long-drawn-out sigh.
“Hands to your-fucking-self, Emmett.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EMMETT
When I was a kid, my brother and I used to build pillow forts in our bedroom before we tried to destroy each other’s creations.
Last night, I could’ve built a stone wall between us, and my body would have still found a way to hold Billie’s.
Around a half hour ago, I woke up in this exact position—face buried in her hair, right arm looped around her waist, pulling her ass into my hard dick. And as I lie here, berating myself over another line I just crossed, I also know the chances of me pulling away are as remote as the odds of me sticking to my teammates’ advice.
I’m an addict, and Billie Quinn is my vice.
Like she can sense my thoughts, Billie turns in my arms.
This morning, I’ll be the first person she speaks to, the first person she sees as she opens her eyes and takes the world in.
She isn’t the first woman I’ve done this with, but she is the first to pull those kinds of intimate thoughts from me. There’s something magical about that, knowing no matter what the nexttwenty-four hours hold, at least you got to share your first thoughts with your favorite person.
Reaching up, I run a light hand through her bedhead, fascinated at how someone’s hair can resemble silk. “How’s your head feeling?”
She winces a little, and the heel of her hand finds her temple. “It’s been better. How much did I have to drink?”
“Three glasses of wine.” I chuckle. “Don’t you remember?”
Her forehead flops against my chest. “I thought it was more than that. Kate bought several bottles of wine and was refilling my glass.”
