The Open Shot (The Hotshots Series Book 1)

Chapter Twenty

Yellow

It's been two-weeks since Warrick's birthday celebration. Last night he had a game. Sadly, I didn't make it to the arena to watch his game, I was working. I'm near ending it.

Right now I'm still in front of my computer at my office. When I heard a knock at my office door. I bet War just came back from dropping Rory to school.

"What are you doing, Heart?" he asked as he opened the door. It wasn't locked.

"Still writing, you need something?"

He shook his head, strolling to my place. He stood up at the back of my chair. Rest his both palms to my shoulder "You still haven't told me what is this book all about" I saw his reflection through the monitor he pouts he was like a sulking kid

"And you still won't have to wait for its release, baby."

"When will it be?"

"Not quite sure maybe next year?" I tried to be sound serious

"Your joking Heart."

I grin "Of course I am"

"I know you are, tell me about its trope? If you don't want to tell me what it is about." He's trying to negotiate

"Isn't like telling you what is about but in other way" he thought he can outsmart me "You can't outsmart me War. Never baby"

He turned the swivel chair to him with both his hands on the arm rest, he leaned close and smirked "Oh, really baby? Cause I think I can" he murmur

He smell so fucking good, I mean he always does but today is different. I wrapped my arms on his neck "Kiss me" I murmur

He smirks "You want me to kiss you baby?"

Words melt on my tongue, my thoughts fading to dust as sensations take over. The logical reason for my presence in his room evaporates with my pride, and I breathe the truth. "Yes."

"What else do you want me to do?" His body taunts me with constraint as his eyelids flutter shut, but when he opens them again, his eyes shine with steel and resolution, the grey turning gunmetal and drawing me down. Warrick raises his hand to my jaw, placing his fingers on the overheated side of my neck and stroking my cheek with his thumb to draw blood to the surface of my skin. As the digit makes its way to my lips and then back and forth with excruciating slowness, I hardly breathe.

He's hardly touching me, yet his words are burning me alive while wetness pools at my core. I burn with the need to plaster myself to him, to push this connection further. I give in to the dizzying force. "I want you inside of me I want to feel you, please War."

"You also want my cock baby?"

"War... Please, I want you." I plead breathlessly.

He presses his mouth against mine. I am encouraged when his hand lands at my nape. His hand clenched into a fist in my loose hair as my tongue follows his lips. As he opens up to me, I groan and taste something that is uniquely him, together with the menthol of mouthwash and a slight hint of alcohol on his tongue. It's rich, flavorful, and toasty like cinnamon.

The flawless softness of his lips, which contrasts with the brutality of his kiss, makes me forget myself in the heat of the moment. With each lash of his tongue and snap of his fangs, he dominates me, invading my space and my senses.

He lifted me out of my chair and placed himself between my knees at my table.

His head sinks down to plant a trail of open-mouth kisses on my neck, causing my lips to swell. I bend my head to allow him better access, and my eyes drift shut. I will allow him to consume me completely. As long as the need throbs between my legs and he continues to make me feel alive.