Free The Player by Camille Leone Page A

mouth. Harlow was his very own Victoria’s Secret model, but the only difference was she could dance. She kept doing this thing where her legs were opening and closing at the same time her butt was rotating in a whole ‘nother rhythm, and she was able to keep going all the way to the floor and back up. There were parts on her body that he didn’t even realize could move. It was belly dancing and Hawaiian hula dancing taken to the sensual extreme. Every part of her twitched and bounced and poked out while she kept a smile on her face like there was nothing to it. Then she dramatically stopped all the action, making him hold his breath in wonderment.
    “Can you . . . will you dance like that on top of me?”
    “Yuh wat meh boomsie,” she motioned toward her butt. “Or meh nanny?” Using her index finger to swirl over her slit, Harlow gave him a naughty, inviting smile.
    The sound he made wasn’t human. Harlow crawled up his legs, removing her top and then her headdress. This was simply exquisite torture, the way the skin on her mound brushed against his as she undulated, her opening slick and wet but out of reach as she teased him with her body and her dancing.
    Each time he attempted to corral her in his arms she’d slap at his hands. “Want this? Yuh gotta take it.”
    Before she knew it, he’d flipped her underneath him. This was how she liked it, with him practically drilling her into the bed, each thrust stronger than the previous one. Whatever thoughts lay behind those eerily smoldering blue eyes as he loomed over her made Harlow shiver. The upper part of his body was slightly raised like he was doing a push up on the bed, while the bottom half worked at giving her strokes that were slow, sharp and oh so deep. It was one surge after another as he moved inside of her.
    “Let me know if I’m being too rough.” He gritted out the words, sweat beads lining a face twisted with ecstasy. Kyle wasn’t the type of guy who did a lot of talking in the bedroom. He didn’t talk dirty, and he didn’t whisper a bunch of sweet nothings in her ear. He just went at it good and hard.
    They slid and slapped against one another and into each other, the wet sounds of him entering and withdrawing like music to her ears. This was sex at its rawest, just two people frantic for each other until one or both of them finally came. Several times the breath caught in her throat, because she was just on the edge of one hell of an orgasm. Somehow she’d known it would be like this, that he’d fit her like a key meant for a lock. But he didn’t just have her body. He had her heart.
     

 
    11
     
     
    “I don’t have to call him ‘daddy’ do I? ‘Cause I’m not gonna. I’ve already got a dad,” Reina said, pulling some of her braids up into a ponytail. Because they were standing side by side in Harlow’s bedroom, checking out their reflections in the mirror hanging on Harlow’s closet door, mother and daughter looked almost like twins.
    “No, Miss Smart Mouth , of course not, but yuh will treat him with respect,” Harlow said, nudging her daughter to keep her from hogging up the mirror.
    Reina’s scowl was pure Ozzy. Not yet a teen, Reina was almost as tall as Harlow, who was five ten. Which meant if Reina didn’t stop growing, she’d be taller than both her parents. “Mom! I’m not a total idiot. I get how much you like him. And we’re gonna be watching the football game from a private box, so how cool is that?”
    After a quick look-see at the clock on her dresser drawer, Harlow suggested they needed to get a move on if they wanted to get to the stadium on time. Kyle had offered to send a limo to pick them up, but Harlow decided against it. Reina had enough of the high life whenever her father came around, with his entourage and boisterous ways. Every time Ozzy picked up Reina it was a production, with loud music and equally loud conversation. The only thing Harlow asked was that he be mindful of when Reina went to