I take another moment to admire her. “You’re beautiful,” I say, unable to keep the reverence out of my voice. “So beautiful.”
Her fingers find their way to my scalp, scratching and scraping through the strands then lightly pushing me forward.
I blow a stream of hot air against one nipple and then the other. She shudders, and it’s like a live electric feed running from her body into mine.
Fucking Christ, but I want her so damn bad.
I take one succulent tip into my mouth and cover the other with my hand. She’s smaller than I expected but twice as delicious, and as I swirl my tongue around her nipple, I can’t help but think she was made perfectly for me.
Her fingers sink into my scalp, pulling me closer. We both shift. I slide to the edge of the chair; she straddles me. I keep sucking, and she keeps pressing closer and closer.
There’s a moan that fills the air, a guttural sound of need and want. I don’t know if it’s mine or hers. It’s probably mine. In my life, I can’t remember ever wanting anything as much I want her.
I’ve hungered for wins on the field, championships, success, but never a person. Not until Luce.
19
Lucy
The suction on my nipples is making me dizzy. I can’t recall if I’ve ever felt this much pleasure from having my nips sucked. I swear I can feel it between my legs with each deep pull.
I never really doubted he’d be good in bed. He knows all too well how to use his body to maximize its athletic ability. And sex is an athletic event. But guys can be selfish, and no matter how well they know their own bodies, it doesn’t mean they care to know how to work another’s body.
But Matt isn’t selfish in any way. He’s incredibly giving, and I enjoy being a recipient of that benevolence right now. Any other guy would have me on the bed, my jeans down around my ankles and my panties pulled aside. Which is not to say I don’t want to do that with Matt, but his unhurried manner is a welcome surprise.
Him kissing my breasts isn’t a step toward a good fuck. It’s just pleasurable and wonderful in its own right. Just like our first kiss. Just like sitting on his bed and talking. He savors each moment.
And I can tell by the press of his erection against my stomach that he’s enjoying the hell out of this. I rock against him, relishing the pressure of his dick, even through the layers of denim and cotton.
He pulls back, and the cool air against my wet skin is its own kind of erotic sensation.
Reaching over his shoulder, he grabs my insulin case.
“What’s going on?” I ask curiously.
“I would feel like a piece of shit if you passed out in the middle of us having sex. That would definitely be a black mark in the risk column. So how about we test your blood sugar?”
That’s simultaneously one of the sweetest but also one of the least sexy things that have been said during foreplay. I curl my fingers into my hands so I don’t have to take the test. “And if it’s too low?”
“Then we get you something to eat if you need it and we sleep.”
“And we forget this ever happened?” I’m starting to get angry.
He cocks his head. I don’t know if he hears the slight bitterness in my tone. “I hope not.” He strokes a hand from my shoulder down over my breast to stop just at the edge of my waistband. My whole body tightens and leans into the caress. “I want one night with you. One full night. If that’s all you’ll give me.”
The unspoken request for more hangs between us. I don’t know what I can give him, so I let him take the BG measurement.
“How often do you have to do this?” he asks as I prick my finger and press it against the test strip. I still sit in his lap, straddling him. My hand brushes against his T-shirt-covered chest as I work. The muscles jump and bunch in a gratifying way at my accidental touch. There’s something intoxicating about how he responds to me. How easily turned on he is by everything about me.
“Ten to twelve times.”
“A week?”
I give him a withering look. “A day.”
He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “Christ.”
“Yeah, so don’t tell me about things that dominate your life. I know all about it.”
“I suppose you do.”
We wait until the measurement flashes on the screen. It says 84.
“Is that good?” he asks.
“Yes. It should be between 70 and 99 unless I’ve eaten and then under 140.”
I reach past him and place the kit back on the desk. “Anything else you want to test?”
His fingers slide into my waistband, under my panties. “Yes.” His eyes darken and it’s clear he’s not referring to my BG level anymore. “But don’t worry. I’m going to do all the work.”
“You will, huh?”
“Yeah.” He surges to his feet and in two steps drops my ass on the bed. He strips down so fast. His shirt flies off his head and his jeans and underwear fall to the floor in no time. He stands before me like the “small g” god that he jokingly called himself.
His body is perfectly formed, a testament to a careful diet and nonstop workouts. He has hair on his chest, a light dusting over his pectorals and a darker trail that leads right down to his penis. He leans forward, his shaft hanging heavy between us, and plants a hand on either side of my waist.
“I can’t wait to get my mouth on you and test out how good you taste.”
He lifts me with one hand and somehow drags down my jeans with the other until I’m wearing nothing but my camisole around my waist and a pair of damp lavender lace panties.
“I can’t wait to feel you and test out how wet you are.”
“Matthew,” I warn.
“What? Does the dirty talk embarrass you?” He slips a finger between my legs. “I told you I like to talk during sex. Besides, even if you’re turning redder than the Oklahoma uniforms, it turns you on. I’m going to suck on your clit here.” He rubs my clit, and I can’t deny the flood of excitement that washes through me. “And then tongue-fuck your sweet pussy until you come all over my face.”
I grow wetter and redder with each word. “Matt, shut up.”
He laughs and strokes me again over my panties. “You know this is the Aussie kiss. Because I’m doing you down under.”
“Shut up!” I repeat with a half groan, half laugh.
“I don’t know if I can. Maybe you have some idea about what I can do with my mouth.” His tone is light but his gaze is hot and hungry. Another finger presses against my aching core, then those two fingers sweep my panties away to touch my bare skin.
But the touch is maddeningly light. He looks at me, waiting.
I give in because I want this so bad. “You should get on your knees and put your mouth on my…pussy.” I push the word past my lips.
His eyes light up in mischief. “Yes, ma’am.”
He does just as I ordered. He falls to his knees and pulls the rest of my clothes off. And as he did with my breasts, he takes his time.
First he looks, telling me how gorgeous I am. Then he traces the rough pad of his finger over every peak and valley. I think I should be embarrassed at how exposed I am, but he doesn’t allow it. I can hear the obvious pleasure and delight he takes in just looking at me, and when he finally does place his lips and tongue against me, it’s as if he’s never done anything so marvelous in his life. It’s crazy how good this feels.
I lie back, close my eyes and give myself over to Matt. His hands dig into my butt, simultaneously kneading me and pulling me closer. In his strong grip, I don’t need to be careful because he’s there to catch me, to carry me, to hold me. And as regressive as that is, it feels wonderful.
The release starts in my toes and winds its way up, twisting and curling until I’m gasping for air. I tug on his head, wanting him to let go, but he shakes me off and delves deeper. His tongue arrows into me, drawing the tension so tight that it’s either give in or implode. I come so hard I nearly pass out.
He holds me as I shake, still drinking me down as if he can’t get enough. Only when I’ve calmed enough to open my eyes does he draw back. His mouth is glistening with the evidence of my enjoyment.
A few seconds later and he’s on the bed, condom in hand.
“How’s the risk/reward assessment going?”
“I’m taking points away if you keep bringing that up,” I warn.
“Fair enough. Which one of us is going to put this on the big guy?” He grins, but there’s a tension behind that smile, a feral need that he’s trying to hide so I won’t be scared off.
I raise my hand, and he slaps the condom into my palm. “Of course you call it big.”
I place one corner of the foil between my teeth and tear.
“Even if I had a tiny dick, I’d say it was a big one. I’d lie to myself until I believed it. No man can walk around with any confidence if he believes his dick is too small.”
“You don’t seem to lack confidence, that’s for sure.” He’s entirely comfortable in his nudity.
“Because I’m big.” He even reaches down to pat his dick, which is, as he describes, big. And actually sort of beautiful. The mushroom-shaped head is flushed an angry red, and the veins push prominently against the skin. He looks…virile and manly and the opposite of me. And even though I’m not one for male nudity, the sight of him on my bed—unclothed and erect—is mouthwatering.
I position the reservoir over the ruddy head of his penis and begin to roll it down. I don’t get much past the head before he puts a hand out to halt me.
“Wait,” he says and pulls my hand away. He holds it to the side while he finishes covering himself with the condom.
“What?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he flashes them open, the bare hunger is no longer shielded. “I’m too close to the edge and would like to be inside you for at least a couple of seconds before I blow my lid.”
He tries to smile, but there’s too much want there to be disguised, and it instills a confidence in me, a surety, that I never really had with a male before. I crook my finger. “I figure you’re good for another round. You did buy a whole box.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He dives for me.
I might be wet, but it’s a tight fit. Partly because I haven’t had sex in a while and partly because he is big. His dick is proportional to the rest of him. Big hands, big feet, broad shoulders. Poised over me, one hand braced by my shoulder and the other guiding the broad head past my entrance, all I can see is him.
He works himself in inch by excruciating inch. The feel of him inside me is headier than I remember. There’s something exquisite about the heavy weight of a body above yours. The way a body like Matt’s presses you into the mattress. How all your senses are engulfed because you can’t see, hear, or feel anything but him.
There’s nothing in my head but the roughness of his hair-covered legs against mine and the smell of his citrus-spiced scent that I suck into my lungs. Beneath my fingers, his shoulder muscles clench as he fights for control to give me everything I need.
He lasts longer than a couple of seconds—much longer. He grits his teeth, mumbles numbers under his breath, and stares off into the distance as he pumps his hips in a steady, perfect rhythm against me. I feel each drag of his plump head along my sensitive tissues as he withdraws and the fierce possession as he drives forward. It’s more wonderful, more erotic than I could have imagined, than I can even put words to.
And the way he’s trying so hard to keep it together long enough for me to enjoy this part as much as when he was kneeling at my feet, his mouth sucking and licking until I came undone, makes my heart squeeze. In this moment, with every part of his body and mind, he’s making the case that he’s worth every risk.
His hard planes rub against my tender parts. And it isn’t just my body that responds to him. My heart opens.
And I know I shouldn’t be feeling these things with him, not for one night. I know I should wrap my emotions up in a tight ball and simply enjoy the physical aspect of it. But between the really amazing sex and the tender, almost loving touch Matt lays against me, I can’t seem to keep it in, keep it together.
I let his warmth seep into every pore.
He dips down, his strong arms holding his body at the perfect angle above mine, and takes my mouth. His tongue makes love to me with the same patient pacing as his body. We suck on each other’s tongues. I hang on his shoulders, wrapping myself around him, arms and legs, until we are one measured, beating being moving in perfect synchronicity.
Why would I want to keep it together? Why not just let go?
He reaches between us, one hand finding my clit. “Here?” he asks.
“Yes, there,” I tell him.
He smiles against my mouth and presses and pinches and pulls the second orgasm out of me.
I’m barely conscious of him tensing and muffling a shout against my shoulder. And when his heavy weight pushes me deeper into the mattress, I only have enough energy to wrap my arms around his torso. I don’t even care that I can barely breathe.
He rests in my embrace for the count of ten breaths, maybe more, before heaving himself to the side.
I mewl my disappointment, and it wrenches a weak chuckle from him. “Woman, let me recover.”
“I’d slap you if I wasn’t so weak.”
He wedges a hand underneath me and, in one move, flips me onto my side. “Have I mentioned how small your bed is?”
“You might have complained a time or three.”
He grunts and hauls me back against his chest. His knees fit into the back of my knees. One strong arm is under my head and the other is banded around my waist. His thumb idly strokes a path from between my breasts down to my navel. It’s simultaneously soothing and arousing. The duality of the touch sums up Matt himself. He’s both a guy who has had a countless number of partners in the past but somehow still manages to make the girl he’s with feel special.
I don’t, in any way, feel like I’m one of the nameless crowds. I should be worried about that, about how I’m already erasing the image Ace had sketched out and am filling in my own image, but it’s too late. It’s a done thing. Matt has become my Matty—an unselfish guy who seems to only want to make me happy, both in bed and out of it.
“Take a nap. We have to prepare for round three.” His breath ghosts against the back of my neck.
I’ve told him one night, and it appears he wants to get in as much action as possible.
“No. There’s no round three. I’m not an athlete. I’m a delicate flower.”
He leans forward and presses his mouth against my neck, right below my earlobe. Shit, that’s a sensitive spot. “What did I tell you? I’m going to do all the work.”
As I fall asleep in the cocoon of Matty’s body, I wonder how I’m ever going to be satisfied with one night.
20
Lucy
“I’m not trying to be annoying, but I have to ask. How was it?” Sutton blurts as the door of our apartment building closes behind us.
“He’s the unicorn,” I admit glumly.
“Damn.” Sutton jams her hands into her pockets, and we trudge along.
I give her full marks for waiting this long. After Matty left this morning, Sutton and Charity banged on my door and yelled for me to get my ass out into the living room where I would be subject to a full debriefing.
I feigned sleep and hid, not because I was embarrassed, but because I wasn’t sure what it all meant.
Sutton was dressed in her coat, hat, gloves, and boots when I got home from class. No more escaping her. I did make her wait while I tested my glucose. It was disgustingly normal, so I shrugged on my sleeping bag of a coat and now we’re going for our walk, or interrogation.
The snow is bunched up on the sides of the sidewalk where the snowplow pushed it a few days ago. The sun’s out and there’s no wind, which means there are plenty of people out getting a little fresh air. Sutton waits until we’re relativ
ely alone to pepper me with more questions.
“When are you seeing him again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he say he would call you?”
“I can’t remember.”
She stops. “What’s that mean?”
“It means…” God, how do I put this delicately? “I was too worn out this morning to remember my own name. He whispered something in my ear, but I just wanted to go back to sleep.” We’d made real inroads into that box of condoms.
Her mouth drops open. “Damn,” she says finally. “Please tell me that you’re going to see him again. Or that if you’re done with him, I can get a shot.”
Every hair on my body bristles in protest. Matty with Sutton? My stomach flips over. Matty bracing himself one-armed over Sutton’s sexy body? I fist my hands. Matty whispering in her ear that he wants her to come all over his dick until there’s not an ounce left in her body? I nearly bare my teeth at her. Sutton knows immediately, without me saying even a word, how much I don’t like the thought of Matty with anyone but me, and bends over to howl with laughter.
“Shut up,” I say, but there’s no fierceness in my command. It’s more of a lament.
I wait until she’s done gasping for air to start walking again.
“So what’s your hang-up?” she says when she catches up a few minutes later—tears from her laughter still clinging to her eyes. “Because if I felt that possessive about a guy, I wouldn’t be letting him go the next morning without a second date chiseled in the sidewalk in front of the student union.”
“Why stop there?” I say sarcastically. “How about I brand him? Put my initials on his ass.”
“No,” Sutton disagrees. “If you’re going to brand him, it’s got to be a place where everyone can see it. Like his wrist. Maybe his knuckles.”
“Are you serious?”
“A little bit.” She spreads her index and thumb in a mock measurement of sorts.
“See, that’s why I’m worried. He’s gone a lot, and when he’s around and I’m busy, he’s going to get bored and wander away.” But when I hear myself criticize Matty, I know immediately it’s unfair. He told me himself that he hadn’t wanted a repeat of his failed freshman romance. I shouldn’t insult him by doubting him when he’s given me no cause for concern.
Jockblocked (Gridiron Book 2) Page 16
