by Kendall Ryan
Leaning over me, Wes plants his lips on mine and kisses the last bit of breath out of me, then stands up, heading toward his closet.
“Um, where are you going?”
He pivots, giving me a confused look. “To put on my pajamas so we can go to bed. Is that okay with you?”
I fold my arms over my chest, scrunching my eyebrows. “Before I get to return the favor?”
Wes chuckles and rubs the back of his neck with one hand, his biceps flexing in that baseball tee as he does. God, he’s gorgeous.
“You don’t have to do that, Jane. I don’t want you to feel obligated to return the favor. Plus, not to brag, but it seems like I wore you out quite a bit just now.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, accepting the challenge, and beckon him back to the bed with one finger.
“Well, I’m not going to say no to that,” he says, peeling off his shirt to reveal those perfectly chiseled abs, just as gorgeous as they were that day in the locker room.
But this time, I don’t have to pretend not to stare. As he leans over the bed to kiss me, I can’t resist running my fingers over them, which gets a smile out of him.
“You’re practically photoshopped, you know that, right?” I tease.
“I just work really hard.” He shrugs, hot and humble once again.
I paint each individual ab with my tongue until my mouth is in line with the chiseled V poking out of his dark-wash jeans. I unbutton his pants, freeing his erection.
Yup, my memory serves me correctly, all right. He’s huge. But I’ve done this before, and I can’t wait to do it again.
I let Wes take my place on the edge of the bed as I drop to my knees, running a finger down the thick vein in his shaft. He lets out a wavering exhale.
Good. I remember just as much about getting him going as he does for me.
He weaves his fingers through my hair as I take his full length in my mouth, slowly at first, then quicker and quicker, running my tongue along his shaft as I work him over.
“Shiiit. Goddamn, Jane.”
Wes’s moan is like music to me, like the radio playing a song I had long forgotten about and I still know every word. As his grip tightens on my hair, I move faster and faster, letting him slide down my throat.
I bring one hand around his shaft, pumping him in my fist as my mouth glides up and down.
His ab muscles tighten and clench, and he makes a low hum of approval in his throat. “Oh, fuck yes.”
When his breathing quickens, I gaze up at him with the best fuck me eyes I can manage. One look, and he tips over the edge, finishing in the back of my throat. I swallow it and ease him out of my mouth, then plant one final kiss on the head of his cock. Just like I always used to do.
“Wow. I just . . . Thank you.”
Wes is speechless. He lifts me onto his lap and presses a grateful kiss against my lips, which says it all. And I kiss him back. Over and over and over.
We collapse onto his bed, taking turns pressing grateful kisses onto each other’s lips, cheeks, noses, ears. I want to kiss every inch of him. When we’re too tired to kiss anymore, he pulls me into the crook of his arm.
“God, Jane.” He sighs sleepily, squeezing me tight against him. “I never should have let you go.”
Chapter Twelve
Weston
I can still smell Jane on my pillow. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the scents of her shampoo, her sweat, her desire . . . the desire I still can’t believe she shared with me.
I never thought she’d want to touch me again—and damn, how she touched me. I can still feel the burning touch of her hands and mouth on my skin. Despite all the fun we just had, my cock threatens to stir again.
I feel for my phone on the nightstand and text her.
Let me know when you’re home.
Eighteen minutes later—almost exactly how long it takes to get from my place to hers—she replies.
I’m here. You worried about me?
Just wanted to make sure you got back okay.
I consider for a moment, then decide I don’t care about playing it cool.
And one last chance to say good night.
You’ll see me again in less than twelve hours.
I can picture Jane rolling her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
I know. Still wanted to say it.
Thank you. :) Now go to sleep or you’ll be tired for practice tomorrow.
She’s not asleep either, yet she’s lecturing me like the good little manager she is.
I put down my phone and roll over onto my back, stacking my hands behind my head. I’m too happy to actually do what she said. Instead, I want to keep replaying the evening and make sure I remember every detail. Her silky skin and hair, her cries of pleasure, the way she trembled against me . . .
Somehow, without knowing when, I drift off to warm, horny thoughts of Jane.
• • •
There’s a spring in my step all the next morning. Even during my bicep curls, which is usually the most boring part of my strength-training routine, I find myself humming along to the pop radio station piped into the weight room.
“You’re cheerful today,” Colin remarks from the neighboring leg-press machine.
I quickly wipe off the smile I didn’t even known I was wearing. “I am? Didn’t notice.”
I’m sure he just meant it as an idle comment, but the last thing I need is to start rumors flying. Jane is my coach’s daughter, and also technically one of my bosses.
Plus, I’m still not sure exactly what it is we’re doing. I’m definitely down for more action, but the fact that we messed around once doesn’t tell me anything about her feelings or plans. And I really have no idea where I stand with her.
“He’s what?” Alex stops on his way past us.
God dammit. We just had to get his attention, didn’t we.
“In a good mood,” Colin says.
“It’s nothing.” I grunt, wishing Colin wouldn’t be quite so helpful all the time.
“Well, now I know it’s something,” Alex says. “And . . . hey, why are you here?”
I frown at him in confusion. “Where the hell else would I be?”
“Last night at the bar, when you ditched us, you said you were going home because you didn’t feel well. But here you are, working out like normal.”
“Must’ve been a twenty-four-hour flu kind of bug,” Colin says, and I silently thank him for his loyalty.
Alex lifts his eyebrows in a pointed oh, come on look. “Do you seriously believe that? I’m betting he ran off to meet a girl. It’d explain why he’s in such a good mood this morning.”
Colin looks skeptical, but now I’m not sure if that look is directed at me or Alex. “Naw . . . really? You think so?”
I growl under my breath. “Dammit, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
Colin chuckles. “Relax, man, we’re just messing with you.”
I’m still a few reps away from finishing my last set, but I stand up and push past Alex anyway. “Excuse me.”
“You mad, bro?” Alex is smirking.
“I will be if you don’t move your ass so I can rack my weights.”
Coach Royce saves me by sticking his head into the room. “Hit the showers, boys, and be quick about it. Team meeting starts in twenty minutes.”
Players start wrapping up, wiping down their benches and going through their cooldown routines.
I’m in such a hurry to escape everyone bugging me that I’m one of the first players out of the shower and into the meeting room. Coach Royce and Mr. Flores are already there . . . and so is Jane, sitting at the side of the room. She’s wearing olive slacks, a white button-up blouse, and brown flats.
It’s a perfectly professional outfit, but I can’t stop staring, and I know it’s because of the woman wearing it. She looks so beautifully put together, in control, in her element.
Though it doesn’t help that her slacks cling, revealing the outline of her l
egs. Just that suggestion of shape is enough to make me think about tracing those curves with my hands, caressing her calves, kissing my way up to her thighs and beyond.
Coach Royce’s voice yanks me out of my increasingly filthy thoughts. “I have some new ideas about the upcoming Swashbucklers game.”
I blink, looking around to see that everyone else is seated. The meeting has started, and I barely noticed.
Coach launches straight into his explanation. His plan of attack and the reasons behind it are solid. More than solid—downright brilliant. But Jane crosses one leg over the other, the round swell of her hip and butt straining against the fabric of her slacks, and my gaze slides right back to her like it’s magnetized.
“So if we use the new formation here . . .”
Shit, I wasn’t paying attention. I try to focus on the complicated play diagram Coach is drawing on the whiteboard. Not the way Jane twirls her gorgeous hair around her finger while taking notes. Not Jane chewing her full, pink lower lip in concentration. Nope, not at all interested in the woman who’s dominated my thoughts since I got here, and who I just spent last night getting better acquainted with.
“. . . which puts us in a short-yardage situation, perfect for the jumbo we’ve been drilling. Then all we have to do is . . .”
Why didn’t I hear the first part of that sentence? I swear to God, I was listening that time.
Wait, was Jane looking at me just now? I sneak a glance, and my eyes meet hers with an almost physical jolt of electricity.
Has she been thinking about me? Is she smiling or is it just my wishful imagination? Does she want me as badly as I want her?
All the memories of last night are running wild through my brain. God, I wish we could get out of here and—
Coach Royce barks, “Chase!”
I almost jump out of my seat. “Y-yes, sir?”
“As amazing as my daughter is, she’s not the one who’s gonna stop your ass from getting sacked this Sunday.”
I sit up ramrod straight and try to look serious. Jane intently examines the wall in the opposite direction, her cheeks pinkening. I might be imagining it, but I think Coach Royce’s mouth twitches.
“Do I need to remind you what the Cobras did to us last week?” he asks.
My stomach twists a little. “No, sir.”
He nods sharply. “Good. Because there’s a lot riding on this next game. As I was saying . . .” He dives back into his analysis of the Swashbucklers’ players and tactics.
Keeping my focus on Coach Royce and off his daughter is still borderline impossible. But Jane is taking notes . . . the perfect excuse to go find her later and talk privately. Maybe even steal a kiss or five.
• • •
It’s just past midnight on Saturday, and I’m pacing my hotel room in my boxers, hopelessly awake. The more I think about the game tomorrow, the more restless I feel. I should find something boring on TV to lull me to sleep, but nothing holds my interest enough to even calm me down.
On a whim, I grab my phone and text Jane, not really expecting an answer at such a late hour.
Can’t sleep.
To my pleasant surprise, my phone lights up with a reply just a couple of minutes later.
Me neither. I’m just lying in bed, bored out of my mind.
A smile tugs at my mouth.
Oh? Maybe I should come keep you company.
She’ll probably just call me a horndog, but our little teasing games are a lot more fun than tying myself in anxious knots all night.
My playful mood heats up at her reply.
Maybe I should let you.
Keep talking like that and you’re going to get me in trouble.
ME get YOU in trouble? In high school, you were always the one convincing me to play hooky and do crazy shit.
Maybe so, but remember our last team meeting?
Excuse you? I was minding my own business, thanks. :P
You were wearing those tight slacks. Biting your lip and twirling your hair . . . you know, those cute habits you always do when you’re thinking hard.
I didn’t realize any of those things were illegal.
Illegal, no. Irresistible, yes.
She doesn’t respond. Just as I start wondering if I offended her somehow, someone knocks on my door. I look through the peephole and grin at the sight of a pajama-clad Jane.
The instant I open up, she surges into me with a fiery kiss. Every nerve in my body sparks to life. I slam the door shut and match her. Our mouths devour each other as she explores the hard muscle of my chest and back, and I let my hands wander over her tempting curves.
When I start fumbling with her pajama top’s buttons, she answers with a throaty noise and eager hands tugging at my waistband. She cups my bulge firmly, and I groan. In less than a minute, she’s gotten me so maddeningly hard, so greedy for more.
We stumble toward the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes, but we only make it as far as the armchair. I push her to sit down and I kneel, kissing and biting at her bared breasts until I can tug off her pajama shorts and panties. Then I bury my face between her thighs and relish her loud gasp.
She smells so good and tastes even better, sweet with slick arousal. My cock aches, but all I can think about is making her come. She bucks and whimpers as I lash my tongue against her swollen bud.
My tongue works faster, and I tease two fingers against her opening until she squirms with impatience, then I slip them inside and find the spot that makes her whimper. I remember what she liked best so long ago and discover new ways, new spots that make her cry out.
I focus on her body so she can guide me by her ragged panting, the twitches of her fingers tangled in my hair, her legs locked around my face and shoulders. A trembling that intensifies to full-body quaking as I push her higher, closer . . .
With a moan, she arches up, grinding hard into my face. Her whole pussy pulsates against my mouth, nose, and chin, clenching around the two fingers still inside her. I keep going until she rides out the waves of her climax and shudders with overstimulation.
I let her go, and she slumps back with a faraway look in her eyes.
“That was . . . intense.” Her voice is still husky with pleasure.
It was for me too. I take a deep breath and look up at her, admiring her flushed cheeks, sex-wild hair, and sprawled, relaxed posture. Nothing is better than seeing that buzzed, satiated expression and knowing I was the one who put it there.
“Wipe that smirk off your face,” she murmurs, smiling a little herself, “and tell me how you want me.”
I reach down and give my cock a warning squeeze, but I shake my head. “I’m okay.”
She blinks. “Wes. You don’t want anything in return?” Her gaze flicks down to the straining evidence of my desire.
I stand up, a little light-headed. “I do, but I also don’t want to mess with my focus for tomorrow’s game.”
“That old superstition?” She giggles. “Sex before a game doesn’t really drain your ‘manly energy,’ you know.” She curls her fingers in scare quotes as she says it. “Your football talent isn’t hidden in your balls.”
I laugh aloud. “Trust me . . .” I lean down to give her a good-night peck on the forehead. “Touching you is more than enough.”
Her smile is sweet, almost shy. “If you say so. Can I at least . . . you want one more kiss, y’know, for good luck?”
“Like I could say no to that.” I pull her to her feet and savor everything she offers.
Chapter Thirteen
Jane
The two most beautiful words in all of professional football: bye week, a.k.a. the one week of the season where our team doesn’t have a game on the schedule, a.k.a. sweet freedom. No traveling, drastically reduced hours on the practice field, and a chance for every player, trainer, manager, and coach to catch their breath and enjoy a little sanity in the midst of an otherwise insane season.
Yes, I love my job more than any sane person should, but that doesn’t mean
I don’t need a break every once in a while. In past years, I’ve spent the entirety of this week plopped on my couch, interacting exclusively with the Thai food delivery guy and the host of whatever game show I’m binge-watching.
But this year is different. I’m trading in my extra-large order of pad Thai for an apple orchard date with Wes, and if things go the way I hope they will, an evening with him back at my place. The only way I’ll be spending any time on my couch tonight is if he and I don’t make it to the bedroom.
I don’t want to assume that we’ll have sex tonight, but based on the past few evenings Wes and I have spent together, I’m liking my odds. And truth be told, I haven’t been able to get the feel of his kiss out of my head, or the taste of the rest of him, for that matter. It’s like I have the world’s biggest sweet tooth, and Wes is made of pure sugar. The cravings are constant and relentless.
When I see Wes pull to a stop outside my building, I don’t give him the chance to come up. I race downstairs and meet him on the curb before he’s even made it to the door.
“Hey.” He smiles.
“Hi.” I grin back at him. Jeez, I feel a little light-headed in his presence. My belly tightens, and my heart starts to pound faster.
The crisp early October air nips at my cheeks as I swing open the passenger door and climb into his rental car. Wes climbs in beside me, and when he starts it up, the thumping beats of a rap song pump over the speakers. I recognize it as the same song we sang along to on the drive back from Walmart.
Well played, Chase.
“Nice song choice,” I say over the deep thumping bass.
He turns the volume down a few notches, his eyes doing a quick once-over of my legs in these skintight black jeans. “Damn. You look amazing.”
That’s the idea, big boy.
My cheeks flush, and I fist my fingers around the sleeves of my flannel shirt to keep from reaching over and grabbing him right here in broad daylight.
“Thanks,” I squeak, trying to conceal my blushing cheeks behind a curtain of my hair. As he drives out of the parking lot, I fight off the urge to yell “Stop the car!” and forego the date altogether in favor of a full day in the bedroom.
