Playing the Player (Sydney Smoke Rugby #3)

by Amy Andrews

  Em angled her neck to give him better access. She slid her spare hand up his arm and over his shoulder, anchoring it against his nape, the velvet fuzz of his hair caressing her fingers as she held him there, arching her back, inviting him closer.

  Inviting him in.

  Her pulse fluttered madly as he took her lead with both hands, settling his big, hard body against her, a hand sliding around to the small of her back, his fingers bunching in the fabric. Her face turned toward him of its own accord, nuzzling the hollow of his throat and up his neck, slowly rising up on her tiptoes the closer she got to his chin, the heat between her legs pressing directly against the potently hard ridge of his cock.

  “Mmm,” she moaned, inhaling deeply, filling herself with another dizzying blast of his warm, sweet skin. “I think I could sniff you all night.”

  He laughed shakily, his fingers twisting in the back of her dress as Em’s lips trekked along his jawline to nuzzle his ear. “I was thinking of something a little more physical,” he said, those fingers finding the zip and easing it down.

  “God, yes,” she panted. A lot more physical.

  She turned her head, done with the sniffing and the nuzzling, needing more. So much more. Her lips sought his, zeroing in, a primal noise rising in the back of her throat as she found them, their mouths clashing, opening, devouring in an explosion of heat.

  His deep, guttural groan rocked her to her core as she clung to him, arching her back and trying to get closer, grinding the apex of her thighs against the bulge behind his fly.

  Good. So damn good. He groaned again. So did she. His mouth hot and hard.

  His body hotter and harder.

  Smelling great. Tasting better. Every ragged suck of her breath filling up with him. With his cologne and something rough and ready and quintessentially male, his groan soaring like a tenor inside her head.

  It was better than anything she’d imagined lying in her bed at night. Better than the tipsy kiss at her doorstep, better than watching his hand work his cock. Because now she could touch him, taste him, know him.

  Her thigh crept up the side of his leg, her skirt falling back as her foot twined around the back of his knee. His hand slid onto her quad muscle and she moaned, his palm hot—so hot—on her skin.

  Like a brand.

  It didn’t stay there for long, though, gliding higher, taking her skirt with it, not stopping until it reached the junction where thigh met ass. He ground himself into the cradle of her pelvis, hitting just the right spot.

  “Fuck,” he groaned.

  “God, yes,” she gasped, grinding back, tilting her hips, riding the thick, hard ridge of him.

  But she needed more than rubbing against each other fully clothed like they were two teenagers dry humping on their third date. She needed to see him, feel him, touch him.

  All of him.

  Her fingers fell on his buttons. Blindly. Desperately fumbling with them as he sucked her neck and fucked her through their clothes.

  “Off,” she growled, clawing at his chest, frustrated at the barrier. “I need to touch you.”

  He complied instantly, yanking his shirt off over his head and throwing it over his shoulder, laying bare all his fine, smooth perfection. The flatness of belly and pecs and the dazzle of ink enclosing it all in a frame that was as hot as it was artistic.

  “Touch me,” he said, his voice rough as he picked up her hands and shoved them on him before claiming her mouth again, his hand reclaiming her thigh, pushing higher this time, his palm sliding onto her bare ass cheek and squeezing as he ground his cock against her.

  Em lost herself in the flares of pleasure popping behind her closed lids. “Please tell me you have a condom on you,” she panted, breaking the lip lock, her breath sawing in and out of her chest.

  He nodded, his breathing as heavy as hers, his irises glazed a dark green. “Wallet. Back pocket.”

  Of course he did. Dumb question. She groped behind him, her hand cupping his ass as she reached for it.

  “Hang on, hang on,” Linc said, shaking his head slightly, closing his eyes as if he was trying to clear it of the same fog she was experiencing. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, opening his eyes again, the glaze gone. “You’ve been very definite that this wasn’t going to happen.”

  Em blinked, surprised at his ability to be practical, given the evidence of how hot he was for her currently, pinning her against the lockers. She could barely remember her own name, and here he was dealing with consent issues.

  She’d have been bloody impressed had she not been so far gone.

  She nodded. “I’m making an exception tonight.” Her body had already committed and her brain was no longer in control.

  “Why?”

  “Because you were right. I did want to get in that shower with you, and I haven’t been able to think of much else since.”

  A slow, smug grin lit his face, and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head too much. You’ve got one night, so no pressure or anything, but don’t screw it up.”

  His grin widened. “I do my best work under pressure.”

  His head swooped down, his mouth claiming hers, demanding she open to him, that she take his tongue and give him her own, give him every moan and whimper and sigh. Every breath.

  And she did.

  Then his fingers were pulling at the side strap of her thong, yanking it down, turning everything south of her naval into an inferno of need. She dropped her leg so Linc could relieve her of it altogether, stripping the leopard print fabric down her legs and tossing them away, too.

  He slid both hands up the backs of her thighs, under her skirt, gripping tight where legs met ass, and boosted her up.

  “Lock your legs around me,” he murmured against her mouth, settling the hard bulge of his cock between her legs, hot and bare to him.

  “Linc,” she panted, her hands anchored on his shoulders, her head and shoulder blades resting against cool metal as her hips rotated in time with his. “Jesus, that’s good.”

  His lips dropped to her neck, his tongue tracing from the hollow of her throat up the ridge of her windpipe. “More where that came from, baby,” he said, his words rumbling against her skin, scattering goose bumps down her neck and over her chest, beading her nipples.

  His hand moved from her hips, where they’d been holding her fast, to her shoulders. The short sleeves of her unzipped dress were falling down her arms, and he pulled them off, the dress pooling around her waist. Her breasts, in a leopard print push-up, were completely exposed to the hungry sweep of his gaze.

  “Yes,” he whispered, staring at them as his index finger traced both swells, pulling down one cup then the other, exposing all of her. His breath hissed out slowly. “I’ve been fantasising about your nipples,” he said, his voice low and rough as he used both hands to stroke the taut peaks. “When I was jacking off in your shower I wondered if they were pale like the rest of you or more caramel, like your hair.”

  Em gasped as he pinched them lightly between his fingers. “They’re in-between,” he murmured. “So pretty.”

  He swooped down, sucking one into the heat of his mouth. Em moaned, a hot spike of need piercing her belly as she unclipped the bra, slid it off, and threw it away before ploughing her hands through the blond spikes of his hair. She held him fast, arching her back, thrusting herself into his mouth, needing the hot suction and the rough swipe of his tongue like she needed her next breath.

  He released her and gazed at his handiwork. “And now they look like raspberries,” he said, swooping again to suck the other.

  Em bucked, wild for the sensation, her heart beating madly as a fever raged through her blood. A fever fuelling an urge to make him buck and thrust and moan, too.

  Her hands slid between their bodies, no easy feat given how jammed together they were. She felt for his fly, her hand brushing over the steely hardness of his cock, dragging a groan from deep in his throat that vibrated deliciously against the sensitive t
ip of her nipple.

  She blindly worked the zip down as Linc’s mouth drove her to distraction, her pulse thrumming like a drum through her body, the air in her lungs as heavy as lead. Finally, it was down, and she reached in, breaching the stretched fabric of his underwear to the very thing that stretched it.

  Finally—finally—he was in her hand. Finally, after watching him stroke himself and fantasising about how good his cock would feel, she had him in the palm of her hand.

  “Fuck,” he swore, her nipple slipping from his mouth, his forehead falling into the crook of her neck.

  She slid her hand up and down the length of him, gripping tight the way she’d seen him do it. Once, twice, three times. He groaned, thrusting his hips with every slide of her hand, flaring the heat between her legs.

  She wanted Linc there. Thrusting there.

  Groaning. Panting. Pounding.

  “Fuck me,” she murmured, increasing the pace of her strokes as she angled his cock, desperate for the two of them to ruck.

  She had a bona fide rugby player hard and naked in her hand, and she wanted him to run a try over her line so damn bad she’d beg if she had to.

  “Please,” she gasped, almost out of her mind with the need to feel him inside her.

  “Condom,” he panted, reaching around to his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. The ticket stubs from the show he’d stuffed there earlier fluttered to the floor.

  Em snatched his wallet greedily, but it was damn hard to concentrate on anything with Linc getting down to business—sucking her nipples as well as rubbing his cock along the slick seam of her sex. Her vision blurred and her hands shook so bloody hard she could hardly coordinate them.

  She growled in frustration as several of his credit cards fell to the floor before she managed to locate the condom and pull it out, tossing his wallet on the floor, too.

  “Got it,” she announced, flinging her head back on a sudden rush of relief and success. It banged hard against the metallic surface behind her. “Ow! Shit,” she swore, grabbing it as pain exploded around the site.

  “Jesus,” Linc panted, his mouth leaving her nipple, his hips jerking to a stop. “Are you all right?”

  He looked like he was an addict in the middle of a fix. His expression wild, his mouth wet and swollen from their kisses. Em’s lungs felt too big for her chest.

  She had done that to him.

  “Fuck, yes.” She was crazed with lust despite the pain. “Don’t stop.”

  He shook his head. “Wait. Your head’s going to be bouncing off that thing shortly, and even though we’re used to blood in this room, a great big smear of it here might be hard to explain.” He kissed her hard. “Hold on.”

  He lifted her away from the end of the lockers and she tightened her thighs around his hips, the condom still clutched between the fingers of her left hand. In half a dozen brisk strides, he was at the edge of the mats he’d thrown on the floor earlier, and he was urging her to her feet.

  “Take that off,” he said, a tip of his chin indicating her dress, wadded around waist.

  Em’s heart rate tripped at the husky request, and her hands shook slightly as she wriggled her hips and dragged it down her legs, kicking it aside once it had pooled on the floor. She was completely naked except for a silver foil packet.

  He stared at her as he toed off his shoes, his heated gaze lingering on the trimmed hair between her legs before drifting up to her belly and her breasts and her mouth.

  His fists curled at his sides. “You’re beautiful.”

  The compliment was rough and husky, plucking nerve endings behind her belly button like guitar strings. He was more than a little beautiful, too, standing there shirtless, his tattoos and the pillowed muscles of his abdomen on display, his thick cock jutting out proud from his unzipped trousers.

  She took a step toward him, reaching out her hand, lightly running her index finger down the length of his cock, from root to tip. He was hard yet silky all at once, and his flesh bucked at her touch, the thump of his abdominal pulse bounding in the centre of his belly.

  “Lay down.”

  His gaze locked with hers, the ragged note in his voice hypnotic. She could no more have denied him than kicked a field goal in a rugby game. She stepped onto the mats, the thick foam giving beneath her feet as she sunk down.

  It was a spectacular angle.

  His cock looked bigger, longer, thicker from her vantage point, and she squeezed her thighs together to ease the hot tingle of anticipation.

  He stripped quickly, throwing his clothes carelessly over his shoulder. His legs were long and heavily muscled, his hips narrow, his chest broad. And his arms…the intricate art added an extra dimension to his masculine beauty.

  He was damn male. So big and hot and primal. He was fucking spectacular and he was all hers.

  For tonight.

  “Linc,” she whispered urgently, holding out her hand to him, sucking in a breath as he prowled toward her, his hard cock swaying with the movement.

  It was utterly hypnotic.

  He looked like Goliath. Like a god. Like a Greek statue. An exceedingly well-endowed one.

  Her heart thumped like crazy and her airways constricted as he sunk down beside her, his gaze running over her like he wanted to eat her up. She reached for him, her hand gliding up his arm so pale against the bright greens, blues, reds, and yellows of his tats. She’d explore them later. For now, she didn’t want to wait another second to feel Linc’s body over her.

  “Fuck me,” she demanded, her hand at his nape now, pulling him down, as she fell back against the mat, her other hand sliding onto his cock as his body closed the distance between them. A rough, raw groan spilled from his mouth as she kneaded him, their lips meeting in a kiss that was wild and crazy from the very first touch of their lips.

  His mouth was addictive. Sweet and spicy like chili chocolate. And she couldn’t get enough. He was hot and hard and all over her. One hand anchored in her hair, the other trailing fingers down her neck, sweeping over her breasts, his thumb brushing over her nipples. One big thigh pinned a leg to the mat, the thick meat of it pushing between her legs, and she gasped as it nestled high and hard against the molten heat of her core.

  So damn good.

  His hand moved to her waist, brushing over her hip, and lower to her knee, urging it up until her thigh bracketed his, increasing the pressure against her slick centre. And still, her hand slid up and down the girth of his cock, slow and steady, revelling in the feel of it, in the involuntary buck of his hips to each stroke and the low, deep, nonsensical noises that she sucked straight from his mouth as they fell from his lips.

  His thigh ground against the hot mess between her legs, and Em could take the sweet torture no longer. “Now,” she growled against his mouth, her hand clamping harder around his cock, her strokes more insistent, the friction between their bodies combustible. “Please, Linc, I need…I have… now, God, please now.”

  “Fuck.”

  He’d groaned it more than said it, easing away from her, groping for the condom, somehow fumbling it open, tossing the packet away and getting it on as she put her mouth to his nipple, sucking it hard then pressing it flat with her tongue before sucking it in again.

  He loomed over her, pressing her back into the mat with his whole body this time, his hips lined with hers, the flat of his forearms resting beside her head, holding his weight off her. She parted her legs, inviting him into the cradle of her hips, the thick nudge of his cock pressing hot and hard against her.

  “Yes,” she moaned, desperate to feel him pushing inside her, sliding her hands up to his shoulders, her gaze locking with his. “Just there…yes…”

  He bore down on his arms, holding her gaze as he pushed inside her, sinking in slowly, inch by glorious inch, until he was seated as far as he could go. Only then did his eyelids flutter shut, his perfect lips parting as his breath stuttered out in a rush, his face a mask of masculine ecstasy.

  Hot. As. Fuck.


  “Christ, you feel good,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering opening to pierce her with the intensity of his lust.

  Em wanted to freeze this moment. Stay wrapped up with him in the hot eye of bliss. In the calm before the storm. Where there were no agendas. Just him gazing down at her like she was the only woman on earth.

  But her body was already demanding more. So was his.

  “Hold on tight, baby,” he said, burrowing a hand into her curls, dropping his lips to hers in a hot, hard kiss as he flexed his hips, withdrawing almost fully before entering again.

  A low moan was torn from her throat, her eyes closed and her butt cheeks clenched as internal muscles held him tight while the rest of her body liquefied on a hot rush of pleasure. But then the primal urge of their bodies took over and they moved to the beat, his tongue mimicking the action of his cock, plunging in and out of her mouth, fucking it, too, as the heat built between them.

  Em met him stroke for stroke, tongue for tongue, as if they’d been doing this dance for fifty years. She was lightheaded with the sounds and the taste and the scent of him, her nose brushing his throat with every thrust of his hips, his body looming over top of her, filling her up with him, pushing her closer and closer to the finish line.

  Considering she hadn’t crossed it with a man for a very long time, it was coming up fast.

  Embarrassingly so.

  Had she been a man, she might have felt the need to start reciting the periodic table or thinking about old dudes in budgie smugglers, but she hadn’t been here for a while, and coming in twenty seconds flat from penetration alone—something that had never happened for her—was about the biggest compliment she could pay him.

  “Jesus,” she gasped, tearing her mouth from his as the first ripple of her orgasm tore through her. “I’m going to come.”

  “Then come,” he said, kissing her hard, fucking her harder.