Page 25 of Hating On Riot

Jesus, his mouth is dirty.

“The game,” I croak. “Seven more places.”

He stares at my Cupid’s bow and licks his lips. His hand settles near his crotch. I can’t help but look. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. His erection is a thick outline beneath his mesh shorts. Look away, Arie. Fast.

I look away, but not fast enough. Riot chuckles and brushes his knuckle across one heated cheek, then the other. “I like to touch these.” My dimples. “And here.” He skims his finger down the column of my neck and into the crook. “Each tit.”

Oh, good God, sweet Jesus, uh-uh. I edge back before he can touch my breasts through my skimpy tank top. His deep laughter slicks my panties.

“The place between your tits. Your sensitive spots above and below your belly button. Your inner thighs. Your pussy lips.”

He doesn’t have to touch me. His words undo me. Shatter me. I can come from his words alone.

I count in my head the eleven places he would like to kiss me, but I’m swimming through waves of molten lava, and my body is on fire. “That’s, um, that’s . . .” I can’t think straight.

“Twelve fine as fuck places,” he says. “One more than necessary, but I don’t give a damn. It was worth it to kiss you in those places in my mind.”

“Breaking our rules drops you to seven.” I’m edging ahead of him by nine whopping points. He flips his next card. It’s the Ace of hearts. Riot’s back in the game. He can go for eleven or one.

For all his competitiveness, he surprises me when he folds. “One. I’ll go for one.”

“You can’t lose,” I sputter.

“I just did, beautiful.” He gathers the cards and sets them on the nightstand.

The way his torso twists, showing off his snatched waist, and the cords of muscle along his arm . . . I turn away from him and quickly fan my face. The heat in my cheeks slowly fades. I swing my attention back to him. He’s still twisted away from me, attempting to stack the cards perfectly. My gaze hangs on how his shirt lifts, giving me a view of the sinful strip of dark hair disappearing below his waistband.

If he was my guy, I would kiss down that soft, dark path to heaven and worship his length and thickness until hot cum hit the back of my throat. Heat rises in my cheeks again. Darn it. Why does Riot have to be so sexy? Why does he have the body of a warrior and the face of a fallen angel?

He finally has the cards stacked the way he wants and brings his attention back to me. “Let me, Arie. Let’s have a do-over.”

A different girl would happily go along with him, but I’ve known him since we were ten. “Wait a minute.”

He holds still, as if holding still will stop me from calling him out.

“Did you just do a bait and switch with me?” I narrow my eyes.

He shrugs. “Reverse psychology?”

“Call it whatever you want, but what you did is underhanded,” I growl low in the back of my throat. “Losing means you grant me my wish, and not you dictating to me what that wish is.”

The nerve of this guy. The girls let him call the shots for too long.

“Why would you lose on purpose when you’re for pounding your opponent into the ground?”

“Pounding my opponent?” He chuckles. “I’d do more than that.” His voice falls to a throaty, sexy timbre.

He turns my words into something dirty. Of course, he does. He’s a jock. Sex on the brain is expected. He looks my body up and down. Heat flares in his eyes. He licks his lips. His hand slips low to his crotch.

Oh, no, he will not pull that dirty, immature move in my presence.

I snap my fingers in front of his face.

He blinks.

Desire leaves his eyes.

I slump back against the headboard with relief.