Straightening, I drag in a few stabilizing breaths, forcing the mask back into place.
One more inhale, and I nudge him with my elbow as I pull my boxer briefs up with one hand. “Let me go.”
“Just a second.” His grip tightens on my hips—and then his tongue drags over that insanely sensitive spot behind my ear.
My body shudders. My brain explodes in tiny dots of black as instinct takes over.
It happens in a flash.
I spin around and slap him. Well—backhand him.
We both freeze as his cheek reddens instantly.
Fuck.
I didnotmean to do that. I just wanted to push him away because that touch was triggering unwanted memories.
“I told you to let me go,” I say instead, yanking my boxer briefs the rest of the way up like they’re going to protect me from this disaster.
I brace for him to hit me back—and honestly, I’d deserve it. If he’d done that to me, I’d be printing his obituary.
But he doesn’t.
He just narrows his eyes. For a split second, something flickers in that stormy gray gaze, but it instantly disappears as he reaches into his duffle bag.
His back is to me, so I can’t see his face.
What I can see, however, is the defined muscular globes of his ass and the dimples on either side.
I look away immediately. Why the fuck am I checking out his ass?
He takes out a shirt, wipes himself down, then pulls up his jeans and boxers, tucking himself back in.
I’m still salty that his cock is huge. Downrightoffended.
There goes my bragging rights.
Boo.
Marcus turns around and I tense, ready for impact.
Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out two candies, and shoves them into my hand. “Good luck with the game tomorrow.”
His voice is neutral. Too neutral. Flat and emotionless.
I don’t like it. Not at all.
I prefer for him to hit me.
Before I can examine whatever the hell that tone means, he grabs his duffle bag and stick and walks out of the locker room.
Leaving me alone with a thousand questions and an absolutely catastrophic sexuality crisis.
Because, as much as I hate admitting it…that was, without competition, the best sex I’ve ever had.
I sag against the locker, my hands cradling my forehead.
I need to end this dangerous fixation before it ends me.
