More Than Love You

by Shayla Black

  Now she’s laughing, and I find myself smiling in return. “Fuck you.”

  “That is the idea…”

  “Come here, baby.”

  Her eyes sparkle under the moonlight, and it’s all I can do not to jump in after her, clothes and all. I want my hands on her now.

  “Why don’t you drop trou and come in after me?”

  “You’re all wet.”

  She purses her lips together, and I know she’ll make one hell of a sexy bad girl. “Don’t you want me that way?”

  The way I feel now? Every day, all day. “Just your pussy. That should be juicy and swollen and ready for my cock. The rest of you shouldn’t be wet unless I’m making you sweat in pleasure.”

  “You sweet talker, you…”

  I’m wondering if I’m really going to have to take my shorts off and jump in after her when she finally kicks her way to the steps of the pool and shoves the noodle toward the deep end. I wish the moonlight were a little brighter or that the surrounding deck had better garden lighting. Yeah, I can see her vague shape under the shallow water, which looks damn fine. But it’s all shadows and dusky grays in the dark. I want some damn LEDs out here so I can really see her.

  I put that on my mental list of home renovations.

  “If it gets you out of the pool and into my arms, I’ll keep talking.”

  Harlow smiles. “It just might. But in all seriousness, I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  I haven’t seen this woman be serious yet, so I’m expecting her to ask about my condom size or lasting power. That’s not at all what I get.

  “How many concussions have you had over the course of your career?”

  I rub at the back of my neck. It’s a sore subject since it’s the reason I was forced to retire. “Five officially. But a couple more in practices, peewee, and high school leagues. I’m better now.”

  Well, getting there. But some days I struggle more than others…like today.

  “And your last one was in January? During the NFC championship game two weeks before the Super Bowl?”

  “Yeah. Why the interest in my medical history? You want my blood tests, too? Find out if I’m sexually-transmitted-disease free?”

  “Are you?” she asks as if her question is a passing curiosity. I’m not sure if she actually wants to know or is downplaying her nosiness.

  “Of course. I’ve always been careful.” Meticulous, actually. I met a lot of women in the NFL…many of whom had made the rounds. I wasn’t keen on my bare junk rubbing against some chick who’d been banging my teammate the week before. “You?”

  “Practically a monk. I haven’t had sex in at least six months. But that’s not where I was going with this. Your concussions… You often have those verbal fogs? Lose track of the conversation? Find yourself tongue-tied?”

  Her words feel like a bullet, fast and unavoidable, nailing me right between the eyes. I try not to stagger back at the impact. But she definitely scored a direct hit, and I’m trying to figure out how to answer her without sounding defective.

  “I was just tired,” I hedge.

  She purses her lips at me. I don’t know this woman well, and nothing else on her face changes…but I see she’s not pleased. “Does it happen more often when you’re tired?”

  “What are you getting at? I was beat and I didn’t feel like talking.” I hear myself getting defensive and I realize I’m being an ass. But I don’t want this woman seeing my vulnerabilities. Hell, I don’t want anyone seeing them.

  “Look, my master’s degree is in speech pathology. What you’re experiencing following repeated trauma to the brain is not uncommon. Have you ever heard of Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy?”

  I put my fists on my hips and resist the urge to back away. “Of course. I played for the league for a dozen seasons. I know what the players who came before me say they’ve endured after repeated hits to the head. But I’m not depressed, impulsive, moody, or aggressive. I don’t lose my memories.” Just blip out in conversations once in a while. “I’m not emotionally unstable. And don’t have tremors. I don’t have trouble seeing or smelling or walking or talking.”

  “But you are experiencing intermittent problems with your speech. Have you had a brain scan?”

  She sees right through my denials. I let out a breath and look away with a shake of my head. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry if I’m upsetting you. I just want to help. It sounds as if you’re experiencing some apraxia of speech. It’s a motor speech disorder where the messages from the brain to the mouth are disrupted. Do you feel as if you can’t move your lips or tongue the way you need to form words sometimes?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I can’t afford to. Okay, so it’s partially a macho thing. I hate the idea of looking weak in her eyes. But it’s also my second career on the line. I can kiss my chance of being a football commentator good-bye if word gets out that, at random times, I can’t speak a word.

  “I know it’s frustrating.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I’ve never had the condition personally. You’re right,” she goes on as if I didn’t just refute her. I can’t miss the empathy in her voice…but it still rubs me wrong. “I’ve heard you speak, so I know the muscles you need to move your mouth aren’t weak. So you seem to have some aphasia, which is a speech disorder as a result of neurological damage. How often does it happen?”

  I press my lips together. “I’m done talking. Do you want to fuck or not?” Now that she knows I’m broken? I scoff. “Of course you don’t. I’m going to bed.”

  Before this conversation goes further south, I turn away and head for the house. I suspect I’ll be spending the night with my cock in my hand, thinking about Harlow. My head was already banking on the fact that I’d be getting horizontal with her and my dick certainly didn’t need convincing that sex between us would be spectacular. Now I’ll have to resign myself to pointless jacking off. Goddamn it.

  “Noah?”

  At the sounds of splashing, I turn to find Harlow emerging from the pool, walking up one step at a time, dripping, swaying with every step, and completely blowing my mind. Her long hair clings to her pretty breasts, flirting with her plump nipples. Her waist dips in, then flares out to a pair of hips I want my hands on. She’s sleek and sexy and stunning.

  I can’t find words for an entirely different reason than before. She leaves me speechless.

  “Can you hand me a towel from over there?” She points to the patio table.

  On autopilot, I back toward the surface, never taking my eyes off her. When I bump into the glass, I grope behind me until terry cloth fills my hand. Then I race toward Harlow. “Need anything else?”

  She takes the towel from me, and we’re standing so close I can smell her scent mixed with a tinge of chlorine. “A shower. Then an orgasm or two, preferably that you give me.”

  Did I hear her right? “You sure?”

  Harlow nods, her gaze tangling with mine. “I want to fuck.”

  It takes a split second for her declaration to sink in. I was convinced she wouldn’t want me after she figured out I’m just a man with flaws. Then again, she was never looking to get laid from someone ESPN hailed as a football god. She just wants pleasure.

  The way she holds my gaze singes me with heat. It sizzles across my skin, burning the flesh under my surface. I can’t quite breathe.

  I have a feeling she’s going to be trouble—and I don’t care.

  “Let’s do it.” Taking the towel from her grip, I jerk it until it unfolds, then wrap it around her back, covering the dripping ends of her hair. Then I tug her against me. Her skin feels cool pressed to my overheated chest. I don’t dare kiss her now. The way I want her, I’ll lay her out on the first available surface, and I’d rather save my knees the agony of looking for the leverage to fuck her properly on a chaise lounge.

  Digging for restraint, I drag in a rough breath. If I’m already having trou
ble resisting her, how bad will the craving be once I’ve had a taste?

  I shove the thought aside. “I won’t go easy on you.”

  “I never thought you would.”

  “I won’t be gentle.”

  “Good. I may be small, but I’m not fragile.”

  “I won’t be quick. Expect me to be at you all night.”

  A sly smile curls up the sides of her lips that turns me on even more. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  I run out of ways to warn her that I intend to turn her inside out and wring her dry before I let her leave my bed. But fuck it, I’ll let my body do the talking.

  Bending, I lift her to my chest. She’s a tiny thing. Given her boobs and hips, I thought she would be heavier to carry, but I’ve curled barbells that weigh more. “Then let’s go.”

  Her smile becomes a grin as she wraps her arms around my neck. “Consider me happily along for the ride.”

  We head inside the house, and I’m glad as hell for the accordion glass doors along the back. Nothing to open or close, just open air, the Hawaiian breeze, and a hot woman.

  Inside, I take the stairs two at a time. I’m impatient; I admit it. I can’t wait to lay her across my bed, turn on every light in the room so I can have a good look at her, then watch her face as I sink inside and see the sensations overwhelm her. I can do that to her. I was damn good on the field, but I’ve also been told I’m a legend in the bedroom. Lots of practice through stupid years of partying. I might be a little rusty now. I haven’t trusted myself around a woman not to have a lapse in speech at the most inopportune moment in months. But riding a woman is like riding a bicycle, right?

  When we reach the master suite, I kick the door open and make for the bed. Before I can set her down, she wiggles out of my arms and heads for the door.

  I frown as she leaves. “Where are you going?”

  “Um, I’ll just be a minute. I need a shower.”

  Why the hell would she think that’s necessary now? “You don’t.”

  “Ten minutes. I promise.”

  She darts away before I can stop her, and I’m left scratching my head. This woman gives off more mixed signals than a malfunctioning traffic light.

  Since I’m not standing here with my dick in my hand while she rinses off, I open the first of my two giant suitcases. Moving from the mainland was an undertaking and the rest of my things should arrive in a few weeks. For now, I pluck out some toiletries and rinse off in my own shower. I should march down the hall and hop into Harlow’s with her. If we’re going to have sex, why not get naked together now?

  But I give her privacy. The downside is, I shower in less than five minutes and emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around my waist. The overhead spray revived me a bit and cleared my head, sure. But now I’m alone and waiting impatiently.

  I turn down the bed, put a few things in my suitcase away, and open the balcony doors to the full-frontal ocean breeze. Still no Harlow. I haven’t stared at my empty doorway much longer than ten minutes, but as far as my cock is concerned, that’s nine and a half minutes too long. She doesn’t need to groom for me. She just needs to be naked and willing and in my bed.

  Scowling, I prowl down the hall and across the open loft space that separates the master wing from the rest of the upstairs bedrooms. The first thing that assaults me is the whirring sound of her hair dryer. The door to her bedroom is cracked, and I can see straight through to her attached bath.

  The sight of her bent over, dark hair dangling as she wields the handheld device, her gorgeous ass waiting for my hands, nearly stops my heart. God, her derrière is pale and pert and round. I want to run my lips across those globes, sink my teeth into them.

  My stirring cock stands up straight, ready to perform—or beg. Whatever gets her attention.

  On silent footfalls, I sneak up behind her and grip her hips, fitting that pretty ass against my raging erection with a groan.

  Harlow shuts the hairdryer off and tosses it on the counter, standing upright with a flip of her head. A rush of breath slips from her lips. “Noah…”

  “I couldn’t wait anymore for you, baby.” That’s doubly true now that I can see every one of Harlow’s valleys and curves under the bright bathroom lights.

  Mercy… The woman is a work of art, full of symmetrical dips and swells. Slender shoulders, round breasts, a tapered waist, and a smooth, bare pad between her legs.

  Our eyes meet in the mirror. Hers are a moss green, verdant and bright. As I raise one hand to her breast and cradle it in my hand, I exhale roughly. In response, her pupils enlarge. Her nipples tighten. Her cheeks flush. And her body melts against mine.

  “Your touch feels good.”

  A woman who communicates. I like it. “I can make you feel so much better. Come to bed with me, baby.”

  “That’s my plan.” As I pinch the taut tip of her breast between my thumb and finger, her eyes slide shut. “My hair is almost dry.”

  I skim my other palm up her waist, over her ribs, then plunge my fingers into the thick, silky mass. It’s barely damp. “Close enough.”

  “I’m trying not to leave wet spots on your sheets.”

  No way I can resist a sly grin. “Oh, I’m hoping you do. C’mon, Harlow. I need to be inside you.”

  I met this woman a few hours ago and slept through most of them. I haven’t even kissed her yet. But I already feel as if I’ve waited far too long for her. It’s insane. And I don’t give a shit. Something about her just feels right at the moment.

  Harlow reaches behind her head to grip the back of my neck at the same time she sways her hips, grinding against my cock. Only a towel separates us. It would be easy to set her on the bathroom basin, spread her legs, lose the terry cloth, and thrust inside her. But it would be too quick, like skipping over a scrumptious feast and eating only a bite of dessert. Nothing wrong with it when that’s all you want. But I’m hungry for more. I want this woman under me, where I can take her in every way I’m craving.

  For now, I let my lips skate a path from her shoulder to her neck. Even fresh from the shower, I inhale a teasing whiff of her vanilla gardenia scent that revs me up. Then I give a gentle tug to her scalp until she cedes more of her velvety skin to me. A little gasp slips from her lips before she tilts her head so I can explore her throat at will. I feel as if I’ve won an important skirmish. She’s stopped stalling and started surrendering, and nothing could be more arousing.

  “Noah…”

  “I’m here. Tell me what you like.”

  “Exactly what you’re doing,” she breathes.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “I wouldn’t complain if you kissed other parts of my body.”

  I grin. “Oh, I plan on that. Let’s go back to my room.”

  Her lashes flutter. Her eyes open. She looks at me, then glances at the bed behind us reflected in the mirror. I see the moment she dismisses whatever crossed her mind. “Lead the way.”

  “I’m not letting you put any space between us tonight.” Before she can say a word, I turn her to face me and haul her body to mine, grabbing her ass in my hands and hoisting her body up. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Harlow does as commanded, folding her arms behind my neck, too. Our gazes meet. I feel the impact of her stare down to my cock. Even without a speck of makeup, she’s one of the most hypnotic women I’ve ever seen. I may have glimpsed—even dated—females more beautiful. But none who flip my switch quite the way this one seems to.

  Is that because my dry spell has been way longer than usual? Or because there’s something special about Harlow?

  “You going to kiss me yet?” she asks.

  “Once I get you in my bed, sure.”

  “Why not now? Am I supposed to just stare at you as you walk down the hall carrying me?”

  “Yep. Anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”

  A little smile curls up the corners of her lips. “All the time.”

  And she’s not goin
g to change her behavior a bit. I don’t know Harlow well, but I suspect that she’ll always march to her own drum and anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck off.

  I can’t help but grin back at her as I head for the master suite. “You’ll thank me later for not kissing you now. I doubt you’ll miss the rug burn on your back. My knees already appreciate my restraint.”

  She bites her lip and sends me an amused glance. “Impatient, are you?”

  Why lie? “Like I might come out of my skin in the next three minutes if I don’t get my hands and my mouth on you.”

  I reach the threshold of the master suite and save her from a reply. It’s not her conversation I want right now anyway.

  Arms wrapped around her, I plant one knee on the bed and let her fall to the mattress. Before she’s even settled, I follow her down and tumble on top of her, pinning her with my legs. I anchor my elbows on either side of her head and grab her hair so she can’t look away.

  Her breathy little gasp turns me on even more.

  “Now I’ll kiss you, and when you come up for air a few orgasms later, I swear you’ll be completely satisfied.”

  “Those are big promises,” she taunts.

  “I’ll deliver.”

  Something about her strips my usual cool reserve. I can normally hold back, maintain casual distance. Nothing about her or this moment feels casual at all. I don’t understand it. I only know that my whole body is tightening, my heart thudding, as I snare her gaze and lower my head.

  Harlow meets my kiss halfway. She might have teased me earlier, but there’s nothing coy about her response now. Her fingers grip my neck and press me closer in silent demand, even as she parts her lips and her thighs, allowing me between both. Sexual heat smolders down my spine. As soft as her lips feel, it’s her flavor that shocks my system with a fresh jolt of desire. I taste wine on her tongue. But under that, I also taste her strength, her sensuality, her need.

  Grabbing more of her hair in my fist, I settle my hips between her legs and give my towel an impatient tug. It’s damp and it won’t budge, damn it. With a pissed-off snarl, I rise up to my knees and whip it free, tossing it who knows where. It’s out of my fucking way and nothing else matters but pressing my skin to Harlow’s again and getting inside her.