by Rie Warren
If I touched her in that second I’d never get the rubber on.
Out of my mind ready to ball her, I fumbled with the fucking foil wrapper while she flipped to her back beside me, writhing on my bed, jonesing for my cock.
Finally sheathed up with a snap of my fingers, I grabbed her chin. My tongue in her mouth. My hands on her ass. Wild savage kisses as I straddled her.
Breaking away, I nudged her pussy with the fat head of my dick. “I want my cock inside your dripping wet cunt.”
Her hands roved down my back, landed on my ass, grasped me hard. “Fuck me.”
Gripping the base, I slid inside. Deep and hard and fast.
Peyton threw her head back with a howl. Her fingers almost cutting into my flesh, she dragged me that last inch deeper until I shafted all the way inside, and my balls fucking quivered when she rained hot wetness, tight slickness all around me.
Arching up, taking her with me with one hand beneath the small of her back, I scattered kisses on her neck, on the tips of her tits, all the way up until I mashed her mouth with mine.
Peyton keened, completely wrapped around me, trapped beneath me. Tangled around me. Arms, legs, lips. Her toes slid up my calves. Her pussy took every hard drive.
I went deep and fast because I’d waited so long.
So goddamn long to have her again.
I wanted to tell her. Wanted to . . . But the extreme need to reach that final oblivion inside her only amped up with every thrust.
She came fast—lightning fast. She bucked up and held me. Fastened around me. Her bare body drove me absolutely mindless. The tight clutching heat of her cunt knocked the wind out of me. Made me voiceless.
Breathless.
With a snarl on my face only she could kiss away, I punched my fists down to the bed and crashed into her, one long thigh draped over my shoulder to open her all the way.
Balls deep, I bellowed. My stomach tightened. Peyton drew blood, I was sure of it as she bit my bottom lip while I bucked again, grinded again, came completely undone with one last jet of seed.
My pelvis eventually stopped kicking.
Not my heart, though.
That shit was jittery.
My breathing, too.
“Fucking hell, Pey.” I traced the curve of her shuddering breast to watch her nipple pop up again.
Then I bent to kiss her.
Her laughter sealed our lips together. That small short burst better than anything I’d ever heard in my life as I flopped next to her.
Her red hair on my neck, her arm across my torso, her legs entwined with mine the best feeling I’d ever had.
“Did I give you that workout?” Her sexy question was barely breathed against my ear.
“Feel my heartbeat, darlin’.” I held her hand to my chest.
“It’s fast.”
“So’s yours.”
I leaned over her, my lips at her breast. The milky mound of flesh. The taut pink peak aroused and ready for my mouth. I sucked it deep, slid my tongue around the pert button while I rolled Pey to her front so she lay flat on the bed. Gliding down her back, I lifted her hips. I sank my mouth between her legs. Soft curls touched my lips, and I nuzzled deep with my tongue fucking her body.
She rose in front of me, arching her back at a sinuous angle. “You know you let your southern drawl peek through only sometimes,” she gasped when I sent one flat palm down her back, calling her my darlin’ again.
“Same with you.” Rising, wanting, hugely muscular and overshadowing her body, I harnessed her tits in my palms.
I twisted her nipples, butting against her creamy cunt.
Peyton swirled on me with a quick move, and she pushed me onto my back. Slowly, sensually, she settled on top of me. Her hips gyrated in a sexy rhythm, sealing her pussy against the underside of my cock as it lay flat against my belly.
I stared up at her, speechless as the heat connecting us coiled in my groin. Stared at her, unblinkingly, when she piled her hair on top of her head only to let it fall in loose strands to her shoulders, around her full tits, playing peekaboo with her taut nipples.
She didn’t say a word, slithering on top of me. Grabbing a condom, she bit it open between her teeth then licked her lush lips. She shook her hair back—red strands highlighted by moonlight—sliding along my cock, naked, sexy, and not one bit self-conscious.
“You gonna fuck me, babe?” I asked, grabbing the head of the bed between my two fists when she rolled the rubber all the long fucking way down my throbbing cock.
“Looks like it.” Lifting up, she notched me against her cunt.
My dick parted those hot little lips, and she immediately swallowed me inside.
“I want . . .” My voice almost gone, I gruffly voiced, “Pey . . .”
“Don’t. Not right now.” She rounded her hips.
She rose up, slammed down, undulated on top of me with her hands against my chest.
Ended my brain.
Fucked my head.
Fucked my cock.
Unable to stop, unwilling to end this thing, I wrapped my hands around her waist. She weighed nothing at all.
But she was everything to me.
Always had been.
“When then?” I asked, my teeth gritted, my cock buried, my hands holding her planted with my dick womb-deep.
“What about”—Peyton arched, all that pure white skin—“what now?”
My teeth gnashed together and my body stretched like a tightrope. My cock nearly bursting. She shuddered all over, clenching me inside, savagely yelling my name from the depths of her throat.
Panting, she draped over me while I almost blacked out from the most intense pleasure. I came until my eyes crossed, my toes crossed, my balls almost crawled into my body.
My ragged inhales slowed. Slowly. I curled Pey against me. We were both steamy, a little sweaty, definitely sex-messy. I wanted to shower with her.
Be with her.
Clean her up.
She’d always been the one for me.
Worn out from the long day and the hot sex, sleep overtook me, but I made sure she was spooned against me before my eyes coasted shut.
I woke suddenly sometime later and rose to my elbow. The bed was empty, and I checked my phone. Midnight. My shower was running.
Peyton.
Maybe I’d dreamed it but I remembered her hand on the side of my face, her lips brushing mine, her voice, whispering, “You were always my one.”
I threw my forearm over my eyes.
Of all the mistakes I’d ever made, losing sight of her had been the biggest one.
I’d forfeited love.
Lost the game.
Given up the girl.
By the time Pey exited the bathroom, I’d pulled on my jeans, rubbed my hands through my hair.
“You gotta go?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Sorry.” She avoided my gaze, smelling of my soap and shampoo, sliding her feet into her sandals.
“It’s late.” I stood up, handing her the bag with her bathing suit and towel.
And our fingers twined together.
“I’ll be fine, Rafe.”
“Are you sure?” With a knuckle beneath her chin, I brought her lips to mine.
Just a taste.
Just a brush.
“I have to go.”
Outside, with the white shells crunching beneath my feet, I helped her into her car.
Waited for her to start the engine.
Rapped on her window.
When she rolled it down, I touched her chin, her cheek.
She captured my palm against her face then brought it to her lips for a sleek whisper of a kiss. And her eyelashes floated down.
I backed off, folding my arms across my chest. “I’ll see you again?”
“Pretty sure you’ll see me at training tomorrow.”
“Not what I meant.”
Chapter Seventeen
So Not a Booty Call
Peyton
“FAVOR TO ASK.” BRIGHT August sunshine flooded my office as I sat chatting on my phone to Phil.
“Ooooh really?” Her tone switched from vague interest to gimme-the-dirt greedy. “Want me to set you up with some double dick action?”
“Where are you gonna find me dick?” Little did she know I’d been getting plenty of cock, Rafe’s hard, thick, long dick in fact.
He and I continued to play it cool around the team, and I kept my private life closed off from him. But every chance we got, we went at it. He was addictive, attentive, delicious, and so strong he could throw me up against a wall and almost fuck me right through it.
I was glad I wasn’t on FaceTime with Phil as I raised a hand to fan myself.
“If I was into that sort of thing—”
“Peeeenis,” I interjected.
“Cannot even believe you said that to me. Don’t make me pull out the V-word.”
While I shuddered, she continued, “I could get you two in the hand and one in the mouth.”
“Not into orgies. And isn’t that some sort of parable or limerick or something? Two in the hand—”
“One in the mouth?” She cackled. “Don’t think so. What kind of books do you read to Cal anyway?”
“Sometimes he doesn’t even want me to anymore.” I sighed, kicking my feet up on my desk. “But back to the point. Could you take Callum for the night?”
It was never too hard to convince Auntie Phil—she was more than happy being Callum’s unofficial guardian—but of course that didn’t mean she wouldn’t get all up in my business digging for that dirt.
“Booty call, is it then? Finally gettin’ laid on the down-low?”
“No.” I flushed, outright lying to her. “The season’s starting soon, and I need to get my shit in order.”
Her long disappointed moan reached across the phone line. “See now? I was really hoping you were gonna say booty call.”
Rafe no longer fit into the booty call category. Our dates consisted of grabbing a quick bite to eat off-campus in between training. Getting to know one another in a way we hadn’t before. Learning each other’s likes and dislikes. Rafe had pop music channels dialed into the radio of his Scout, but he claimed that was all down to Liv. He worried he’d fuck up his arm or his aim every single game, and the next season—the need to come out strong and winning—weighed even more heavily on his mind than mine.
Also, he liked long wet blowjobs.
And I liked giving him head.
Win-win.
I figured out he wasn’t a dumb jock, but I’d known that for a long time already. He was the beating heart of Carolina Crush—and quickly invading my heart, too.
He also couldn’t wait to spread my legs to get his mouth on me, his cock in me, either.
I didn’t complain.
Win, win.
Yeah, we kept this “relationship” mostly away from work. Except the silly gifts left in unexpected places around the compound continued—I did my part as super sexy secret not-Santa. Remembering the Rafe Macintyre Funko football figure he’d given me, I had to make do with a Justin Bieber Bobblehead in return, you know, for his pop song addiction.
I knew he’d found the plastic figurine hidden in the deepest recesses of his locker the moment he scowled at me from across the parking lot later that day at quitting time.
He’d texted me:
Not funny
I countered:
Just a little bit?
He’d answered:
Come to dinner with me and we can discuss.
The discussion never happened, neither did dinner. A whole lot of hot sex sure had, though—as much as we could fit in within a two-hour time frame before I had to jet home.
The day I’d stashed a sexy black mesh jockstrap in his locker, my pulse fluttered between my legs. Just reaching into his cubby, I sensed everything about the man. His sweat. His body. His muscles. His sheer dedication and total determination to win.
And by Jesus, he was winning with me.
When I’d stepped onto the training grounds later, Rafe caught immediate sight of me. A line of sweat drilled down the center of his jersey. His jaw flexed. His vivid green eyes flashed to mine. And the red flooding his cheeks beneath his deep tan wasn’t due to exertion.
After his workout, his PT, his shower, and what was probably a lot of bullshit macho baller-talk in the locker room, he knocked softly on my office door.
Slipping inside, he slid the lock home. Then he’d locked target on me.
Hiking up my skirt, growling in my ear, ripping off my panties, he’d sat me on my desk.
He’d stood between my spread thighs, shedding his jeans to reveal the tight see-through mesh cupping a cock that stretched the webbing until threads threatened to break.
“This what you wanted, Pey?”
My hand went to him. My tongue wet my lips. Speechless, I’d nodded my head. Bobblehead.
Yes, please.
He’d taken me then and there. On top of the desk with papers scattering. My MacBook almost shuttled off the edge. The jockstrap hauled down, his hips punched forward, I’d scrabbled to hold onto his shoulders, his ass, the lip of the desk as he tore into me with teeth-chattering, body-melting, pussy-convulsing force.
I’d come twice before Rafe let it all go.
God, he was magnificent—all strained muscles, tight craven face, corded neck, rough hands wrapped around my hips as he pulsed inside me over and over again.
His long mighty groan the last noise before he thrust a few more slow wet times.
His head fell to my breasts. “You naughty woman,” he whistled out between shallow breaths.
I’d folded my fingers through his hair, tugging him up. “It’s all your fault.”
“God, I hope so.” He snuck his thumb between my lips. “I hope you’re not like this with any other man, darlin’.”
That was right.
We hadn’t had the talk. The exclusive no-screwing-around-with-anyone-else conversation.
And that wasn’t the only serious discussion missing from our relationship.
What wasn’t win-win about Rafe and me? I was torn in two. I’d done something wrong and hadn’t told him yet.
And there was still one big black gap neither of us mentioned.
This thing between us was as complicated as I’d always thought it would be with all the secrets too close to surfacing. But it was just so damn easy to be with Rafe while everything was new and exciting, fresh and thrilling.
Unfortunately, guilt and shame were close seconds to the burgeoning feels I was starting to have for Rafe Macintyre.
****
Deeply resolved, I wanted one more time with him. An entire night so I could wake up in the morning next to him—just once—before it all came crashing down.
This house of cards. This life of lies. This thing that was never meant to be.
Despite hounding me until I wanted to throttle her, Philomena took Callum overnight as I’d known she would. She was always excited to get some one-on-one time with my precocious kid.
She’d probably cart him to the jump castle arena, feed him up on junk food, and throw sleeping bags on her living room floor to fall asleep to G-rated kid’s movies instead of her usual X-rated fare.
That night, Rafe and I blasted through the front door of my house, one of my hands tangled in his hair, the other already working to open the tab of his pants. It was his first time at my place and likely to be the last, but before I could contemplate the full implications of telling him the truth, I was swept away in the compulsive desire to have him.
He slammed me against the wall, groaning when I cupped his cock in my palm.
His head slanted, his mouth angled against mine, capturing every one of my moans when he tossed off my silky top to twist his fingers around my tightened nipples.
“No bra?” he asked, breathless, and his cock dripped a dollop of pre-ejaculate I caught with my thumb.
His lips wet a sizzli
ng hot path down my neck, along my collarbone, to my breasts.
“You get me too excited. I didn’t want to wait.” I stopped stroking him.
I couldn’t concentrate on the hard, meaty rod in my hand, not when he roughly licked one nipple before pushing both my breasts together.
He lifted his head, the pirate smile prodding deep, delicious dimples in his cheeks.
All-American Boy he was not. He was nasty, wicked, so very hot.
Beneath my skirt, his fingertip worked slippery circles over my thong, around my clit, then prodded beneath to dip into the well of my sex.
“So excited your nips been hard all night?” He nuzzled my breasts, and drove that single finger harder inside me. “Wet panties, darlin’?”
He drew his finger out. My hips chased his touch.
He pulled the thong off and lifted it between us while I panted, held up with my shoulders braced against the wall and my hand inside his pants, against the single longest hardest sexiest cock I’d ever had.
“You’ve been ready for me,” he stated in a gritty tone, tossing the thong away.
I nodded.
“You’re not usually this quiet.” He flipped up my skirt, pressing me harder against the wall.
Sailing kisses down my tummy, he nudged my thighs farther apart, but I needed us to be completely naked together. I jerked him up with a rough tug on his hair, listening to his harsh grunt.
With him in front of me, his features almost feral with lust, I tore at his clothes. My fingers wrapped around the thickness of his cock, and he sucked in a short breath. I could never get enough of his sculpted naked body. His firm ass. The sexy tat of the panther on his back.
The way he looked at me like he wanted to own me—dominate my body. That look, now, with his green eyes close to black as he unhooked my skirt so it shimmied down my legs. As he touched my shoulders then my chin before he drew my lips to his. And when his tongue caressed mine, I cried out into the pleasure.
Sensation exploded around me—this man, his muscles, the music of his grunts, and the exquisitely honed flesh beneath my hands.
A tantalizing feast of warm skin, hard muscle, and rough hair.
I only escaped the agonizing eroticism of his touch and his kiss to lead him to my bedroom. As I started up the stairs, he watched me from the bottom. A wild thrill shot through me as I imagined what he saw that made him swear in his rough-toned voice. Another step up, and I shook my hips. I looked over my shoulder, my hair swinging.
