Not by the Playbook: A Fake Relationship Football Romance (Wrong Place, Right Time Book 1) by Ivy Hunt

Author:Ivy Hunt [Hunt, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

BECS

Tension lines take root between Logan’s brows as he carefully pushes my curls behind my ear and feels around for bumps. I can’t help but give him a lightheaded smile even though there is absolutely nothing wrong with me.

“Logan, really, I’m fine.”

He cradles my head in one hand, the other wraps around me so I am completely enveloped in all things Logan. His eyes are soft, serious, and his lips are so, so close. I ought to put some space between us. It’s not like there is anyone around, no Jenna to impress. But any rational decision-making skills deserted me days ago, and I don’t pull back. I can’t. Not when he is holding me like I’m something precious.

Instead, I close my eyes and allow myself to reach for him and press my lips against his.

All of a sudden, our mouths are fusing like they’ve been apart too long. I groan, and Logan’s teeth nip my lower lip, asking for entry.

I comply with a moan, letting him in as my arms twirl around him. He jerks back at the sound. “Shit, you okay? Your head!” His voice is husky, even as his eyes blaze.

Momentary sanity returns. Can I blame this on an injury that’s already dissipated?

My palms cup his shoulders, intending to push him back, make more breathing room for myself. But my hands stroke up his shoulder and coil around his neck. “You’re like the best medicine. You kissed me all better.”

Logan’s lips twitch, a sign he knows I’m fine. He lets out a low, sexy laugh. “Well, we can do more than just better.” He ducks down and kisses me again, and I’m toppling back on the couch. He follows, his hands landing on either side of my head.

Blue eyes silently ask, Is this okay?

I bring one hand to the back of his head and tug him down in answer, the other wraps around his heavily muscled back. His bare chest presses against the thin tank I’m wearing and my nipples scream for more of the searing friction.

My fingers travel further south, almost to that delicious butt, and he groans. He shifts his weight to one side and slips a hand under my top.

His warm fingers against my belly are like matches to my skin, and I all but go up in flames as I arch up for more. His hands roam up until his palm is cupping my breast through the lace of my bra, his thumb stroking across the taut crest.

Soft lips travel down, nuzzling into my neck, finding my pulsing heartbeat, and he gives that spot a lick that sizzles through me all the way down between my legs. One of my limbs wraps around him and his pelvis presses heavily on me, his hardness apparent.

The buzzer interrups—security is sending up a registered guest. We jump apart. Both of our eyes widen.

Jenna.

Like two little kids avoiding the teacher, he picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and rushes for his bedroom. The door slams behind us the same moment we hear the elevators open.

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