Player

by Staci Hart

  He laid me down.

  I was aware of everything. The feel of his shirt under my hands. The weight of his body pressing me into bed. The taste of his lips. The soft cotton of his sheets against the backs of my arms. The rough calluses on his fingers rasping against my thigh. The beat of my heart as it raced in my rib cage. The hard length of him shifting pleasurably against the center of me.

  And the kiss went on and on.

  Everything had shifted. A few words, and the thin boundaries we’d held in place were gone. Against all reason, he wanted me.

  Me.

  You and I have become a fact.

  It couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream, some brilliant dream where it rained chocolate sprinkles and broccoli tasted like birthday cake. Where snow wasn’t cold and girls like me got their wishes.

  And oh, how I had wished for Sam. I’d wished on every star and eyelash. Every eleven eleven and every dandelion. I’d wished for him before I knew I was wishing for him.

  When he relinquished my lips to kiss down my neck, I sighed my contentment. He hummed against my skin in answer.

  In a feat of strength and skill, he grabbed me and twisted, pulling me into his lap as he sat. I gasped in surprise as his lips connected with the hollow of my throat, his hands up my skirt, my ass in his palms. He squeezed.

  “God, I want this ass,” he whispered against my skin. “It’s perfect. I know you don’t believe me, but it is.” He pulled, grinding my core against his cock.

  My arms rested on his shoulders, forearms cradling his head, fingers slipping into his hair. “If you think it’s perfect, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

  A chuckle. A wet kiss on my neck. My skin drawn into his hot mouth. “Is that all it takes to convince you? I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

  His fingertips trailed up, traced my hip, found the bend of my thigh. With one hand, he lifted my skirt. The other stroked me through my panties, eliciting a whimper and a shift of my hips, seeking connection.

  “So many firsts I’ve claimed,” he said between kisses, his thumb doing some magic on the hood of my clit. “Tell me. Tell me what’s mine only.”

  My chest heaved, the motion inadvertently bringing my breasts into his face, then away, then back again. “F-first swing dance. First real kiss. First real date. First real everything,” I breathed.

  “More,” he demanded.

  “F-first orgasm by a m-m-man—oh!” I gasped, my core clenching when he squeezed my clit. “First real b-blowjob. First time coming from a man’s mouth. Mmm—ah!”

  He popped my ass with his free hand, and my hips swung into his from the shock and pleasure.

  “Say blowjob again.” His voice was gravelly and raw, that free hand moving to my breast. He unfastened the top button of my shirt and buried his face in the valley of flesh.

  “Blowjob,” I whispered, rocking my hips.

  His hips rose in answer, his fingers working my buttons until they were open. “I want another first.”

  “Tell me.”

  He slipped that hand under my shirt, and I shifted, helping him get rid of it altogether. “I want to be the first man to make you come, cock deep inside you.”

  “Oh my God.” The words were barely intelligible. My hips were not my own. The point where his thumb connected with me ached desperately.

  “Have I mentioned, I’m not a fan of failure?” He palmed my breast, squeezed and released, slipped around my ribs to the clasp of my bra, unfastened it with a snap of his fingers.

  “Y-yes. I remember.” My bra slid down my arms. I tossed it away, cupped his jaw.

  His eyes lowered, his lids heavy, one hand cupping my sex, the other tracing my collarbone. “Once I make up my mind about something, I don’t stop. Not until I have what I want.” His hand, warm on my breast. His thumb, callused and rough against the tender skin of my nipple. “And I want you.” He squeezed, the flesh spilling from between his finger. “I’ll have that orgasm. I’ll take a few more because I can. Because it’s like I told you.” His lips, millimeters from my nipple. His breath hot and damp when he spoke. “Your pleasure is my pleasure. And I want to take mine until I’m satisfied.”

  The sensation of his mouth on my nipple was a haze of feeling, too many nerves firing to decipher everything at once. It was the slick of his tongue. The pressure as he sucked. His lips parting, flexing, releasing. The very edges of his teeth grazing the tight peak.

  “Sam,” I breathed, already close.

  My hips were too wild, the delicate crawl of heat across my skin bringing with it a dimming of the room as he pressed exactly as I wanted, sucked just like I needed, licked right where I desired.

  He closed his lips, his hands disappearing from the places they’d been. They moved instead to my face, which he turned to his, bringing me down for a kiss that left me boneless in his lap.

  My clumsy hands fumbled down his torso to the hem of his shirt. “Too many clothes,” I mumbled against his lips.

  He laughed against mine and reached back to grab his shirt and tug it off, mussing his hair on its way off his body and onto the floor.

  It was my turn to stare, eyes down and hands roaming over his skin, so tan, so soft over the hard muscles of his chest.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I whispered in wonder.

  He held my face so delicately, tipped it to meet his amber eyes. “Every day, every minute I’m with you, any time of day, any day of the week, I feel the same. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, Val. Ever.”

  I shook my head, looked down my warm cheeks. Happily warm. But he couldn’t have meant it.

  I didn’t even have to say it out loud. He knew. The air shifted, tightened. When he breathed, he breathed me into him.

  “Every curve,” he said, his hand skating down my arm. “Even the ones you hate.” He traced the back of my arm, the flesh on my ribs that rolled just once. I flinched involuntarily. “You see it as a flaw. I see it as honest. It’s you. And I want you just as you are. Every tiny freckle on your nose. Every curl on your head. Every soft place on your body. You call them flaws. I call it a signature. Because there is no one like you, not in the whole world. And I will love every curve until you realize you love them, too.”

  I couldn’t speak, and I didn’t have to. My lips crashed against his, my soft body against his hard one, our arms locked, my legs around his waist. There was no space. No air. Nothing in the universe but me and Sam and the words he’d etched upon my heart.

  He lay back, taking me with him, twisting to put himself on top of me. Down my body he roamed, his hands leading the charge and his lips in their wake. Down my stomach, over my hips, his fingers hooked into my panties and slid them down my legs until they were gone.

  His hands had an agenda, first to bring my thighs together, the action twisting my waist, turning my hips so one pointed at the ceiling. With his eyes between my legs, those hands trailed up the backs of my leg, thumbed the slick center of me. Without looking up, he knelt, disappeared behind my ass but for his hand gripping my hip. For a split second of anticipation, that was the only place we touched.

  A humid breath against my waiting center was my only warning.

  The heat of his mouth against the heat of me was the sweetest pleasure, their softness and slickness equal, though mine lay waiting and his sought. It sought every furrow, every crease, every ridge and every valley. It sought the dark places, sought the swollen, aching peaks. A moan, a rumbling sound that touched the tip of me, commanding attention I was helpless to deny.

  His face nestled deeper. I was barely cognizant of the fact that his nose was dangerously close to my ass, and even that realization was dismissed without a second thought. He was far too into what he was doing to seem bothered. In fact, he moved deeper still, his tongue sliding into me, reaching for the depths of my body.

  A whimper from my lips. A noisy breath from his nose. His fingers squeezing my ass hard enough to sting, pulling to separate my cheeks, garn
ering him more access. And then he was turning me, twisting me again to put me on my knees, climbing up behind me, his face buried in the split of my body.

  He backed away, panting. I laid with my chest pressed against the bed, looking back at him over my shoulder, up the line of my back and the heart-shaped curves of my ass as he palmed my cheeks, squeezed them, spread them. Licked his beautiful lips and lowered his body. Drew a line up the center of me with his hot mouth. Closed his eyes, his midnight lashes on his cheeks, taking his pleasure just as he’d said he would, giving me pleasure as he’d promised.

  My lids fluttered closed, my breath shallow, my face turning into the sheets to burrow, needing pressure, needing to move, needing more. I was empty, achingly empty. His name on my lips, an unbidden plea.

  With a final, deliberate, slow lick up the line of my center, his mouth disappeared and his hands along with them. I heard the clink of metal, a zing of his zipper. I willed my drunken lids to open as I rolled over, caught sight of him rummaging in his nightstand. The silver packet in his tan fingers. The open V of his pants. And then my eyes were wide open and hungry, watching him as he dropped his pants, taking in every shadow of his body. The indentation of his hard ass. The fluttering muscles over his ribs. The channel of his hips, hard and muscular. The dark thatch of hair just down and between.

  His cock in his hand.

  The condom in the other.

  His fist closing over his crown, stroking his shaft.

  His eyes meeting mine.

  Flashes of motion like flickering heartbeats. And then he was crawling into bed with me, reaching me first with his lips, then with his hands, seeking nothing more than to hold me to him, those hands splayed across my back with gentle demand. His legs twined with mine, his thigh nestled at the point where my thighs met. And for a moment—one long, hot moment—that was exactly enough.

  But our bodies wanted more, our hips searching for what only the other had. I moved up his body to gain access, spreading my legs to give him all the room he needed.

  He took control, placing me flat on my back, spreading my thighs with his knees. He gripped his base, thumb extended to guide his crown to the split of my swollen lips. Between them he slid without breaching me, drawing his cock up the line, against my clit, down again, hovering over me all the while. Our faces were turned down, watching him toy with me.

  And then he brought his lips to mine. The kiss seared me from the place our lips touched, through my heart, and down to the point our bodies would join, a kiss barely containing the anticipation, a kiss out of our control.

  When he broke away, our eyes locked. His crown found the dip. His hips flexed. And he slipped into me slowly, so slowly, not stopping until he filled me completely.

  Neither of us moved beyond the thundering of our hearts and the heaving of our lungs. Our gaze never shifted, his arms bracketing my head never tensing, his fingers in my hair still as stone.

  And then he kissed me, pumping his hips. We swallowed each other’s moans, the connection liberating, the slow grind of his body as he filled me again gave me the pressure I’d needed so desperately.

  God, the feeling of his weight, his hips sinking into mine, the heaviness of his body, the cage of his arms. I matched his rhythm without knowledge or intention, my hips rolling in time to his, bringing my body where I needed. And he knew where I needed it too, knew the exact speed, the exact force. He knew when to slow and when to speed. He knew when to kiss me and knew when I needed to breathe and be and nothing more.

  His hand hooked my leg, guiding it over his shoulder as he got on his knees, tilting my ass to him. And when he pumped, he went deep, so deep, my lungs contracted in a gasp of shock and pleasure.

  “Tell me when you can feel it,” he breathed, adjusting my leg as he thrust his hips again.

  “Feel wha—-homygod.” My hands slapped into the sheets to brace myself when the tip of him hit a spot deep in my body I’d only read about. My fingers clutched at the sheets, back arched, offering my breasts to the sky. “Yes,” I whispered as he slammed into me, his hips waving to kiss my aching clit. I writhed, mad from the feeling so intense, I became a wild thing underneath him, around him.

  And then there was only one objective, one desire. My nerves fired, burning a trail across my skin to the center of me, to my core so full of Sam.

  Another thrust of his hips. A breath that skipped and shuddered in my chest. Another thrust, and my body contracted, squeezed, pulled him deeper into me. Another thrust, and I exploded in a blinding blaze of electricity, a pleasure so hot, so acute, I couldn’t hold it all. It split me open and poured out in a bursting pulse, drawing him into me as air sawed out of my lungs with affirmations and pleas.

  My body slowed, but he didn’t. Faster he moved, the sound of his thighs slapping my ass ringing in the room. My breasts caught the motion, jostling in even circles, a whimper slipping out of me, my body still riding the last of my orgasm. His breath came faster, louder, a moan, a cry.

  He swelled inside me, pulsed, and with a sweet sighing yes, he came, fingers digging into my flesh, brows tight, eyes pinned shut and jaw clenched.

  I watched him release, watched him let go, watched his ecstasy, his pleasure.

  His pleasure was my own, just as mine was his.

  He pursed his lips and shifted, struggling for breath as he laid his body down on me, kissed me with the passion of a man who’d been liberated. He kissed me until our hearts slowed, kissed me until those hearts matched pace.

  Only then did he break the kiss to look into my eyes, his fingers in my hair and his lips swollen and smiling. I was surrounded by him.

  It was glorious.

  “You must be a magician.” My voice was rough from disuse.

  His smile lifted on one side. “Why?”

  “’Cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

  He laughed, kissing me sweetly. “If I had a dollar for every time I looked at you, I’d be in a higher tax bracket.”

  A giggle burst out of me. “My name’s Microsoft. Mind if I crash at your place tonight?”

  Another laugh, another kiss. His nose brushed against mine. “Will you? Stay the night with me, Val.”

  I wound my arms around his neck. “You sure?”

  “As your boyfriend, I respectfully demand it.”

  I chuckled. “How can I argue with that?”

  “You can’t,” he said against my lips. “Because I have more orgasms to earn, and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna take me all night.”

  And then he kissed me and made good on that promise.

  25

  Boyfriend Material

  Sam

  When I woke, I woke wrapped up in Val.

  We were a tangle of arms and legs, her head tucked under my chin and her breath puffing against my chest. She rested on the curve of my shoulder, and my arm cradled her head, keeping her close. Even in sleep, my fingers needed to rest in her dark curls. I could smell the coconut. I shamelessly buried my nose in her hair and inhaled like an utter and absolute creep.

  “Mmm-nanaman,” she mumbled. “Banana man.”

  I pursed my lips, stifling laughter.

  “S’sa Piledriver. Bronco, bucking bronco. Mmm, Hobby Horse.” She giggled to herself, and the sound dissolved into a sigh.

  A sharp intake of breath followed, marking the end of whatever dream she was having about horses, broncos, and professional wrestling.

  She stirred, sighed, shifted to get us closer together.

  “Morning,” I said gruffly, my voice raspy.

  “Mmm,” was her only reply.

  I couldn’t see her face, but I somehow knew she was smiling.

  Closer still I pulled her, shifting to twine my legs tighter around hers. Our calves were back to back—hers smooth and soft, mine scratchy and hard.

  “Bad news,” I started. “You do talk in your sleep.”

  She gasped and raised her head, her face red where it had rested against my skin and lips open
in an incredulous O. “I do not.”

  “Do too. You were talking about Westerns and wrestling. And bananas. What do you know about Piledrivers?”

  Recognition brushed away her disbelief, replacing it with embarrassment. “Oh my God. Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  I laughed. “Nice try. Spill it, Valentina.”

  She seemed to steel herself. “It’s a sexual position. Have you tried it?”

  It took me a second to parse not only what she’d said, but the positions I knew of. “I’m…not sure what that is.”

  She huffed, her embarrassment swelling. “It’s when a guy…he takes a girl, and he…” She groaned. “I can’t explain it. Google it.”

  I shifted, doing my level best to reach for my nightstand without disrupting her. When I checked my phone, a string of messages waited on the lock screen from Ian, pestering me. I scanned them.

  Ian asking where I’d been last night, if I’d been with Val. If I’d ditched her yet and found someone new.

  Questions. A dozen questions, and the answers were all the same: none of his fucking business.

  I ignored them, navigating instead to my browser where I searched for Piledriver sex. On finding an illustration of two people banging, I nodded.

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I’ve done that. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  She laughed and rolled her eyes, but her discomfort was crystal clear.

  “I’ll show you a better one later.”

  That one earned me a real smile.

  “So we have until sound check to do whatever we want. The world is our oyster.” I toyed with her hair, fitting my finger into a curl. “What do you want to do?”

  “Lie here like slugs all day.”

  I chuckled, pulling the coil until it was straight and letting it go. It sprang right back into a perfect curl. “Only if you stay naked and I get to touch you wherever I want.”

  She kissed my chest and shifted, setting one hand on my chest and resting her little chin on the back of it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, sir.”

  “How about tonight? We could go dancing.”