His fingers tighten around mine, and I hazard a glance up before looking away again.
“I knew I was a badass,” I say with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I knew I was smart and a good speaker and a great businesswoman, but it took a long time for me to also see myself as desirable. As whole, even though my leg was gone, but I did it. And I started dating, and being intimate with people I respected and who respected me. Sometimes I felt awkward, but I never felt unwanted. That’s not because there aren’t guys out there who will make you feel that way, because there are. I was careful not to let those guys into my life. I trusted myself to choose wisely. And then I didn’t.”
I shake my head and swallow my emotion. “I chose the wrong guy to want,” I say, pouring all the self-censure I felt into the look I give Ean. “I allowed someone to infiltrate the world I had made for myself where I was fierce and confident and exactly who I was supposed to be. I allowed him to make me feel unwanted. Un-whole.” I lower my head and bite my lip. “I haven’t tried again since.”
“You haven’t been . . . with anyone in a year?”
“Right.” I lift my lashes to catch his eyes on me, tender and warm. “It was like when I first started using the prosthetic. I didn’t trust it to hold me and I was afraid to fall, but now I’m realizing falling is part of this life. We don’t want to fall because we’re afraid to get hurt, but sometimes the most human thing we can do is hurt, and the bravest thing we can do is heal. I forgot that over the last year.”
“Why me?” he asks, and he’s not fishing for compliments about how gorgeous he is in all his broody glory. Genuine curiosity flavors the query.
“Gosh, I don’t know.” I shrug through the lie. “I felt a connection to you at the basketball camp when you . . . you touched me on my—”
“Back. I touched your back and was sure you thought me a creeper, touching you like that.”
“No. I thought how good it felt to be touched, actually. To be touched by a man who I believed wanted me for me. You asked me for coffee, but I could tell you wanted more.”
“I wanted too much,” he mutters.
“You know what I’ve figured out on my journey?” I ask softly. “Sometimes it’s good to want too much. Sometimes wanting ‘too much’ is how we get it all.”
A flare of feeling—emotion, desire, something deep and dark and tucked away—shows in his eyes. “Are you saying I should go after what I want?”
I nod tentatively, simultaneously excited, uncertain and turned on by the intensity of his stare.
“Okay,” he says, pressing the button to lock the partition separating us from the driver. “I will.”
Ean
The tiny click of the partition locking into place is the only sound in the back seat for a second, but Quinn’s quick little stutter breaths fill the air. When our glances tangle in the dim light, it’s like the sparks when kindling ignites. Sharp and quick and bright. I reach for her hand again and bring it to my lips. Without looking away from her face, I press my mouth to her palm and then scatter kisses between her fingers, spraying kisses over her wrist like perfume. I make my way up her arm, licking at the sensitive skin inside her elbow, and feel a shudder tremble through her slim body.
I rub my thumb over her nipple and watch it bead beneath the silk of her strapless dress. Her head tips back and she lies against the seat, exactly as I want her. My kisses wander from the delicate vellum skin behind her ear, across her stubborn chin and up to those pouty lips. It’s a plunging kiss, sweeping the sweet, silky interior of her mouth with my tongue. I suck her bottom lip hard between mine, and then softening to tiny bites. I shove my hand into the short cap of her curls, relishing the way the silky strands cling to my fingers.
“I want to suck your breasts,” I whisper against her lips. “Can I?”
Her chest heaves with a deep breath and she nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
I slip my mouth down her neck, dragging that clean, citrus scent in and kissing her collarbone. I edge the dress’s neckline with my lips, teasing her with the promise of my mouth on her nipples. She shifts, her hips circling, and I hear little whimpers escaping her throat.
That’s it, baby. I want you to want this until it drives you as crazy as I’ve become.
I open my mouth over one nipple through the dress, dampening the silk with the hard suction of my mouth.
“Shit,” she mutters, arching her back, pressing her nipple deeper into my mouth. “Jag, come on.”
Damn, that’s sexy. She’s never called me that before, and I’m determined she’ll scream my name just like that before the night is over. I’ll save fucking her for the hotel. For now, I just want her to come all over this nice man’s leather seats.
I keep mouthing her and sliding my hand up her thigh, the skin so smooth and firm. I run a finger over the silk covering her pussy.
“God,” I groan, pressing my knuckle against her clit. “You’re dripping. I can’t wait to taste you.”
She moans and twists, jerking the strapless dress down to expose her breasts. I stop and stare. They’re full and firm with candy-coated nipples my mouth is on before I think to ask again.
“Yes.” She breathes her pleasure and I lower my head over her. She drives her fingers into my hair, pushing, filling my mouth with the sweet, soft flesh. I move my mouth from one to the other, loving the taste, the feel of them both, until she’s panting and begging, spreading her legs in subtle, brazen invitation.
“I love that you know what you want,” I tell her, my hand traveling down the bare skin between her breasts, over her stomach, under her dress and between her thighs. I slip my fingers into her panties and rub the pads of my fingers across her clit. She jerks, her hips lifting. I start again, roughening my touch the longer I go until I’m pinching and twisting the small knot of nerves. The sound of her wetness sets my blood on fire. She moans, biting her lip and reaching up to grab her own breast, tweaking the nipple. I slide down to the floor. I’m a big guy and it’s a tight space, but I only need room for two things. My mouth and her pussy.
I peel her panties down over her legs, being careful when I reach the prosthetic. I don’t want to hurt her and I’m not sure if anything I do will.
“You’re fine,” she says, her smile tentative, and yet sure. “It doesn’t hurt.”
I nod and lift her legs over my shoulders. With no dress and no panties cloaking her, the scent of her arousal is thick and all around me. It makes me groan. I don’t know how I’m going to make it out of here alive. I brush the side of my nose over the skin inside her thighs, letting her get accustomed to me, to having me so near her most secret, intimate place. Once her thighs quiver against my cheeks, I push in deeper, swiping between the damp, plump lips with my tongue.
“Oh,” she says, sending the one word to the next octave.
I do it again, a longer swipe. A more deliberate pressure of my tongue against her clit. Her fingers tighten in my hair, urging me on. I pull one slick lip into my mouth, lavishing it.
“Dear God,” she gasps, twisting her hips to get away. “It’s too much . . . I can’t . . .”
“You want me to stop?” I ask, nibbling on the other lip.
“No, no, n-no,” she chants, linking her legs at my back. I feel the disproportionate weight of the prosthetic leg heavier than the other, and thinking of her navigating the world, turning what should have been a disadvantage into an advantage, into a way of life and inspiration, not just for her but for hundreds of thousands of others, makes me want to treasure her even more. I start licking in earnest greed, getting sloppy with it. I lift under her thighs to spread her wider, bring her closer. I pinch her clit and kiss the valley between her legs until high, loud moans leak from her mouth and wetness spills from her body, dousing me with her passion.
I’m drowning in her complete satisfaction.
Quinn
That feels so good.
Standing behind me, Ean plants his hands at my hips, bending to brush his lips along my n
ape. He opens his mouth over the sensitive skin there and sucks.
My hands shake and I can’t get the key card from my purse. I give up and slump back on his broad chest, my head lolling against him. “If you keep that up, we’ll never get inside.”
“At this point, I’m not above doing it right here,” he chuckles, his breath breezing through the short hair curing around my ears. “But let me try.”
He takes the key and lets us in. As soon as we step inside, the air thickens with anticipation. With desire.
With uncertainty.
The moment of truth. Time to bare it all.
It’s not that I’m self-conscious about my residual limb. I’m just unsure of how my partner will feel the first time. It’s an important distinction. There have been times when guys thought they would be fine, but the reality of seeing me, not walking around on a flesh-colored prosthetic looking relatively “normal” and wearing Louboutins, but seeing an empty space where a limb should be, disconcerted them. A rounded stump with a scar that looks like a happy face. It’s not that I didn’t know them, but sometimes they didn’t know themselves. They assumed they’d be fine with it, but struggled to adjust. Those guys got shown the door. I don’t need to be made to feel like a charity case, or like someone they had to work themselves up to fuck.
Ted and I never made it as far as having sex, so I never had to watch him school his features to hide distaste or discomfort, but I’m sure if we had, that’s what I would have seen. I saw, too late, that he was that kind of guy.
I walk deeper into the lavishness of the Ritz’s presidential suite. The sleek modernity, all stark lines and metal, could feel cold, but dark wood accents and Southern hospitality warm the space.
“We still okay?” Ean asks from the door.
“Yeah.” I nod and smile at him over my shoulder. He smiles back, walks up to me, and runs his hands down my arms, linking our fingers. When he kisses me, he explores my mouth deeply, so deeply I taste my pussy on his tongue. The kiss grows hotter, rougher, until my lips sting and it makes me wet all over again. My panties are in his pocket, so the wetness trickles down my thighs. Our breathing comes heavy between our mouths, and he reaches down to squeeze my ass, one cheek in each hand.
“I want to fuck you,” he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. “So very badly, Quinn, but if you aren’t comfortable, if you don’t want to anymore—”
“I do.” I caress his full lips with my thumb, pushing into his mouth. He sucks down right away, pulling my thumb deeper into the cavern of his mouth, and every time he sucks, there’s a corresponding twitch in my core. His passion is a pulley, and I respond to his slightest touch.
“Would you mind if I take a quick shower first?” I ask. “I don’t want to break the mood, but I—”
“You already explained, and I’m fine. Take your time.”
I nod and walk quickly to the bedroom and close the door, hearing Sports Center start on the other side right away. I grin and shake my head. He can’t stay away from it for any amount of time.
I never know what I’ll get in a hotel bathroom, though Willa’s great about calling ahead to ensure the hotel accommodates my needs. It’s nothing like my shower at home, of course, which I’ve outfitted with a bench, several grab bars, an adjustable hand-held showerhead and a pressure mixing valve so I don’t burn myself with too-hot water. This is great, though. The walk-in shower has a bench. I start the water, then sit on the edge of the tub to remove my prosthetic. I peel the tight liner away from my stump and grab the antibacterial cleanser I use for the liner and my residual limb every day, and do a cursory cleanse. Even though I’m about to shower, I pump some of the cleanser into my hands and rub it on my stump while I’m here and it’s easy.
With that done, I swing my legs over the side of the tub, set my liner on its drying rack and hop over to the shower where the collapsible walker I travel with is already set up. Showering can be perilous. Hopping around on wet tiles on one leg is a recipe for disaster, so the walker keeps me safe.
It’s only been a few minutes since I left Ean, but thanks to the bench, I get through showering and washing my hair quickly and without incident. I pull myself up by the grab bar and use the walker to journey back to the side of the tub where I sit and dry off.
I didn’t anticipate this happening, so I didn’t pack any of my sexiest lingerie, but I do have a petrol blue short satin slip. A silvery frastaglio frames the plunging neckline and shows off my neck and breasts. I work hard to keep my body fit, healthy. I’m proud of it, but the inevitable nervousness of a partner seeing me without the prosthetic for the first time still lines the inside of my belly.
Taking a deep breath, I hop the few feet back toward the dining room, but stop to stand in the frame of the bedroom door. Ean’s on the couch, muscled legs stretching out forever in front of him. His hands link behind his head as he watches television, a position which flexes the bulge of muscle in his arms. There’s the slightest bit of nervousness, but it doesn’t diminish the overwhelming roar of my body’s need.
I want him.
And everything I’ve seen from him signals that he wants me—just as I am.
I clear my throat, and his head whips around toward the bedroom entrance. His mouth drops open slightly, and he grabs the remote to turn off the television. His eyes start at the top of my hair, wet and curling just the slightest bit, over my face, free of make-up. His gaze heats as it moves over my breasts, and my nipples tighten beneath the silk. The intensity of his stare feels like a touch. His eyes drift down farther, and I know what he sees. My slip hits mid-thigh, so for the first time he sees my stump floating in the air beside the lean, muscled curvature of my other leg. He drags his eyes back up to meet mine, and I’m relieved to see the desire hasn’t cooled. If anything, his stare grows hotter the longer we are apart.
He stands and strides over to the door. He towers a foot over me, and I tip my head back to meet the dark eyes glowing with feeling that answers mine. Feeling not made of just desire and passion, but of need that goes beyond the quick fuck I pushed for the last time. A need for closeness and understanding. Intimacy.
“You look so beautiful,” he breathes, his voice husky. “I don’t even know where to start.”
He dips his head, drives his hand into damp hair and fits his lips to mine. It’s urgent and immediate, the push of his tongue inside my mouth. His body confesses his hunger in so many ways. The tightening of his fingers in my hair. The hoarse sounds in the back of his throat. The compulsive ravishment of his mouth, taking and taking and taking, a helpless hunger that his hard frame trembles with against me.
His hands slide to my ass, and he folds his arms under my butt, lifting me and walking with quick strides to the bed. Not lifting me like he’s helping me, concerned that I can’t walk, but lifting me possessively, like I’m his to carry, to lay down on the feathery bedding and claim. He stands over me, running his eyes all over my body, biting his lower lip and closing his eyes tightly.
“I’m going to try hard to be gentle” he says, his voice raw. “But I want you so much.”
“I don’t need gentle.” I reach up to capture his hand with mine. “I need to be fucked.”
My words set him off, and he wrenches the polo shirt over his head, rumpling the coarse wave of his short hair. With haste, he strips off his slacks and briefs and socks until he’s naked at the end of the bed.
Good. God.
Ean’s body is a map of discipline and hard work and muscle and sinew. His pectorals are full and swelling, tipped with dark nipples. Four stacks of abdominal muscles form a ridged ladder down his stomach, tapering to a narrow waist. He’s a stallion, his thighs long, lean, and flexing. His calves are carved and shaped like teak wood.
And his dick.
In some atavistic response of mate recognizing mate, my legs spread as soon I see his cock hanging long and proud, framed by two huge balls that will fill my mouth completely. I swallow, remembering how I’ve wanted t
o blow him from the beginning.
“May I suck your dick?” I ask, breathless and thirsty.
His eyes flare and the strong column of his throat contracts with a deep swallow. Wordlessly, he climbs on the bed, spreading his thighs over my torso and shifting up until his cock hovers over my lips, just out of reach. I almost whimper with the need to taste him, to feel him scraping the walls of my throat. He makes no move to close the distance, waiting to see how bad I want it.
I want it bad.
I lift my head until his crown brushes my lips. His salty pre-cum slips into the corner of my mouth, and I flick my tongue to capture it.
“Shit,” I gasp, pulling my tongue in, pressing it to the roof of my mouth so I can savor him fully. “You taste good, Jag.”
Heavy breaths heave his chest and the muscles in his stomach. He spreads his thighs, one on either side of my head, a little wider, lowering himself by careful inches into my mouth.
“Mmmmm,” I moan around the length of him slipping past my lips and to the back of my throat. I slide my mouth up and down, up and down, relishing the slick, hot hardness. I pull my head back, releasing his dick, angling to suck one of his balls.
“Fuck, Quinn,” he roars. I lavish each ball until they glisten and the veins along his cock strain. He reaches down, grabs my chin, and pushes himself back into my mouth, and his hips piston with relentless thrusts, knocking him to the back of my throat.
“Are you okay?” He glances down at me. I nod almost frantically, afraid he’ll stop before spilling down my throat. I want it. I want his very essence coating my mouth, rolling like a river into the deepest parts of me.
His movements are aggressive, and the gagging sounds I make, the tears pouring over my face, seem to spur him on. Gentle fingers mop at the wetness on my cheeks, and he slowly pulls out.
“Jag, no.” I move my head to recapture his cock, but he presses his thumb to my lips. He shifts back and off the bed, running his eyes along my body sheathed in costly satin and silk.
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 36
