Scoring Off the Field

by Naima Simone

  “Kiss me,” he ordered. Or maybe begged.

  …

  Disbelief rooted Tennyson to the floor, paralyzing her.

  “Kiss me.” The sultry sexuality in Dom’s invitation wrapped around her, stroking over her suddenly sensitive skin. Every nerve ending had sprung to life and stood at attention, turning her into a living divining rod for the arousal that simmered in his eyes. And tented the front of his sweatpants.

  Jesus Christ.

  The breath whooshed from her lungs. Riveted, she started at the outline of his cock. The material did nothing to hide the thick column or the wide head of his erection. And damn, it was both thick and wide. A tribal beat set up between her legs, and she just managed to swallow a moan.

  I’ve been having a real hard time not imagining you on your knees in front of me putting that pretty mouth to work.

  His rough, low words from only moments earlier reverberated in her head, filling her brain with the same visual. Her, sinking in front of him, hooking her fingers in the band of his pants, and drawing them down. Revealing that beautiful cock that could be hers. If she had the courage to claim it.

  Yanking her gaze up his body, she met his unwavering scrutiny. There was a dare in those blue eyes. As well as a need that miraculously mirrored the desire twisting her inside out. But could she trust it? Would he turn away from her again, leaving her aching with unfulfilled passion and her heart hurting from his pious rejection?

  Did she care?

  She shivered. That was the real question. Did she risk all that to finally discover what being possessed, penetrated, and taken by Dom felt like? She’d dreamed of the moment when he would look at her not as his best friend, but as a desirable woman he wanted to fuck. He could shake his head in two seconds, realize what he was doing, and rescind that invitation. Then where would she be? The same place she’d been for a decade. Longing. Alone. The little “sister” she’d never asked to be.

  She planned on leaving Seattle whether the job in Dayton came through or not. There were other employment opportunities, and her decision to move on from him, grab a life, and live it hadn’t changed.

  But she could either leave having grasped this opportunity to give herself to him and take him for herself…or she could leave a coward too scared to trade fantasy for reality.

  Before the answer fully formed in her head, her feet moved across the foyer.

  In seconds, rock-hard muscle met her hands. With a sigh she didn’t bother to contain, she slid her palms over his chest, the heat that emanated from him warming them. God, the man was like a furnace—a furnace encased in taut, inked skin.

  He didn’t move under her exploration, and pleasure hummed through her at the open access he silently granted her. Kiss me, he’d said. And she complied. But when she parted her lips, it was to trace the tattoo of the broken pocket watch with her tongue on his lower stomach.

  A hiss sounded above her seconds before two large hands burrowed through her hair, gripping the strands. “I fucking knew that’s what you were thinking,” he growled, pressing her closer to him.

  The words didn’t make sense to her, but then his earthy scent of cedar, rain, and fresh soap distracted her. As did the slight sting to her scalp from his tight hold on her hair. She returned the favor by raking her teeth over the roots of the olive tree that hugged his side and the branches that soared up his torso. A hoarse curse was her reward as well as the ridged muscles of his abdomen going concave under her mouth. And when she licked the spear and shield Warriors emblem covering his right pectoral, pausing to suck the flat, dark brown disc of his nipple, he yanked her head back, kissing her with a hunger that left her breathless.

  His tongue thrust between her lips, and his unyielding grip on her head held her prisoner to the claim he staked on her mouth. Not that she was trying to escape. No, she clasped his wrists, rose on her toes, and opened wider for him. This time it was her issuing the invitation to take, conquer. To fuck.

  Part of her couldn’t believe she actually stood here with Dom, kissing him. And him returning the embrace as if she were the last meal he would receive for the next year. It almost seemed like a dream. One she didn’t want to wake up from. A bolt of desperation blasted through the lust, and she released his wrists, running her palms up his shoulders, down his sides, and stroking up his back. As if she had to hurry and touch and caress before the opportunity was snatched from her. She had to soak it all in before she lost this chance…

  “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips. “We’re not rushing this. Up.”

  He palmed the backs of her thighs and hoisted her in his arms even without her help. The show of strength shouldn’t have had her head swimming, but damn if it didn’t. She wasn’t a lightweight, but he made her feel like one. Encircling his neck with her arms and his waist with her legs, she covered his mouth in another kiss. His hands shifted from her legs to her ass, and she squirmed against him. And her eyes nearly rolled in the back of her head as the movement rubbed her sex over his dick. Pleasure spread from between her legs, up her belly, and into her breasts, teasing her nipples into tight points. With a whimper, she flexed her hips again, and God, it was so good.

  “Keep that up, and we’re not going to make it to the bed,” he warned, his fingers pressing harder into her behind. The firm grip on her flesh had her momentarily forgetting how much she had back there. She couldn’t remember much past the increasing dampness in her panties as the head of his cock bumped her clit with each step he took.

  Seconds later, he nudged the door to his master suite open and lowered her to the bedroom floor. And that quick, the modesty and embarrassment rushed in as if they’d just been waiting on the periphery to infiltrate and remind her she was about to get naked with Dom. And she didn’t possess the slender, tall body of the kind of woman he usually took to bed. With normal men like Michael or Adam, she would’ve been fine, not self-conscious. But Dom was far from normal. He had the body of a god and was used to fucking goddesses. Not mortal women with breasts, asses, and a dimple here and there like her.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” His harsh demand whipped through the room. She lifted her head, not even aware she’d lowered it, and met his narrowed gaze. Though arousal gleamed there, so did anger. At her. “That’s right, Tenny, lift your head. Look at me. Or better yet…” He enfolded her hand in his and, without offering her much choice, led her past the king-sized bed with its luxurious, dove gray comforter and black, leather headboard as well as the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the fire pit and pool. He paused in front of a black leather ottoman and the large mirror that nearly covered the opposite wall. “Look at you.”

  “Dom,” she whispered, shyness and mortification eddying inside her, threatening to swamp desire. She fixed her gaze on the low piece of furniture, unable to study their reflections. She shifted, trying to angle her body away from the mirror, but one big hand settled on her hip, holding her in place, and the other grasped her chin. The grip on her face was gentle but implacable, and he brooked no resistance as he turned her head until she had no choice but to look into the glass.

  In spite of her embarrassment, a shiver rippled through her. He stood over a foot taller than her, so the top of her curls brushed his chin. With the wide span of his shoulders, the length of his arms, and the strength in his thighs, he damn near surrounded her. She appeared almost delicate compared to him. In bed, he would totally cover her, and the thought had air whistling from between her parted lips. Had flames licking at her skin and sizzling currents traveling back and forth between her nipples and sex.

  “What was it you once said?” he said, pushing her hair from the side of her neck and lowering his head until his lips grazed her throat. “I don’t want short women with ass for days who carry twenty extra pounds? Did I get that right?” When she didn’t reply, he nipped the crook of her neck. She whimpered, her knees softening to the consistency of jelly. “Did I get that right?” he asked aga
in. She nodded, momentarily muted. “Is that how you see yourself?”

  He knew her better than anyone, so she didn’t bother answering. And when he nuzzled her throat, and she saw as well as felt the flick of his tongue over her pulse, she couldn’t have found her voice if it’d yelled Marco Polo.

  “You say short; I say petite, graceful.” His hand abandoned her hip and slid down and around, cupping her ass. She started, fire racing to her face at the possessive touch. “Shh,” he soothed, his gaze locking with hers in the mirror. His fingers squeezed, molded her flesh, and she groaned, part mortified, part out of need. “Ass for days?” he quoted. “I say perfection. An ass that men fantasize about in bed… An ass they jack off to.” The crude words should’ve turned her off. But yeah, all she could think about was Dom being one of those men. “And twenty extra pounds?”

  In a lightning-fast movement, he tugged her arms in the air, whipped her shirt over her head, and tossed it to the floor. Stunned, she stood frozen in her lavender bra and jeans. She could only watch as his arms enfolded her and his hands cradled her breasts. The warmth of his palms, his fingers curving around her flesh, shattered the numbness. With a strangled cry, she arched into him, her arms raising and locking behind his neck. When her lashes fluttered, he rumbled a denial, the sound vibrating against her back.

  “Look at yourself,” he ordered. “You’re not heavy, Tennyson. You’re a woman. With a woman’s curves.” He squeezed her, and her nipples pressed against his palms. She bowed harder, craving more of that pressure. Needed him to alleviate the ache. Increase the ache. Hell, she didn’t know. She just needed him to touch her.

  “Please,” she pleaded, entranced by the sight of his large hands on her. “Touch me.”

  “Here?” he murmured, his fingertips sweeping over her chest. “Here?” He teased a wide circle around each breast. “Or…here?” Those wicked fingers captured her nipples, pinching them.

  “Yes, damn it,” she breathed, electricity arcing from the tips to her sex. She twisted in his embrace, and her breath snagged in her throat as she caught sight of herself. Undulating in his arms, her face flushed, eyes fevered, hair more wild than usual from his hands.

  “Now you see it,” he said into her ear. He rolled the peaks, alternating between soft sweeps and this-side-of-punishing tweaks. A cry slipped from her lips, and the pleasure coursed through her veins, melted her from the inside out. “That’s you. Beautiful, sexy, uninhibited.”

  With a low snarl, he tumbled her to the ottoman. From one moment to the next, she went from standing to lying on the seat, her hips resting on the edge of the furniture. Kneeling in front of her, he snatched off her boots, then unbuttoned her jeans and yanked them down her legs. Her underwear immediately followed, leaving her naked except for her bra.

  He cupped her knees and spread her wide, his gaze pinned on her bared flesh.

  “Dom…God.” The cry exploded from her and ricocheted around the room. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, but his mouth stayed right where it was—on her sex. Jesus, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t…think. Not with his tongue licking her clit, sucking it, grazing it with his teeth. He feasted on her like she was the sweetest, most delicious treat, and he’d been denied her for far too long. Long, wicked strokes parted her folds, lapping at her, swirling, and—if the low hum vibrating against her was any indication—savoring her.

  She pushed her hips up, offering herself to him even as she yanked at his hair to pull him away. Mindless. Confused. Swamped in the craziest lust. He’d transformed her into this creature that clawed at his scalp and rode his mouth in sexual abandon.

  And when he slipped two fingers inside her, she screamed her pleasure for God and country to hear. He shifted back to the top of her sex, his lips latching onto her clit again as he thrust up into her, his fingertip curling, stroking an area high and unknown until this moment. He massaged the spot, pulling and sucking on the too-sensitive bundle of nerves.

  Relentless. He was relentless, and a part of her shrank from the cataclysm that reached for her, awaited her. But heat sizzled the soles of her feet, culminating and spinning deep inside her. With one last cry, she surrendered, toppling over the edge.

  He continued to rub and lick, giving her every measure of the orgasm. Only when she shuddered, the electric waves receding, did he slip free and lift his head. His mouth glistened with the evidence of her arousal, making it appear lush, carnal. And as he slicked his tongue over his lips, she suddenly wanted to taste herself on that mouth.

  Reaching for her hand, he helped her sit up and then slide off the ottoman. With careful but urgent hands, he guided her until she faced away from him, the edge of the furniture pressing into her belly. Those same hands removed her last remaining piece of clothing, then threaded through her hair. Her lashes fluttered closed at the caress that was both sensual and tender. Even as the embers of need stirred again, so did the trembling in her heart. And for the first time since she’d crossed that foyer to kiss him, doubt over her decision filtered through her. Would she be able to walk away after this, knowing it had never been just sex to her, as it was to him? Had she made the most colossal mistake of her life?

  “You okay?” His chest aligned with her back, and, with a gentle tug on her hair, he brought her head to rest on his shoulder. He brushed a kiss over the bridge of her nose, the corner of her mouth, her jaw. “You still with me?”

  God, he was so attuned to her. Fear that she would never feel this connection to another man speared her chest. But that fear wouldn’t stop her from seizing this moment and hoarding it for the future when he was hundreds of miles away.

  “Yes,” she whispered, running her lips under his chin.

  “Good. Because after tasting you…” He exhaled, his fingers tightening in her hair. “I want to be inside you.”

  He moved behind her, and a glance in the mirror revealed him shoving his sweatpants down below his hips and ass. Those embers flared to hot, dancing flames. The hard, firm muscles of his ass flexed as he gripped the base of his cock and stroked up…and up the length, his fist twisting when it covered the head. She swallowed, a deep ache yawning wide inside her along with a flurry of feminine anxiety. He was…impressive. Screw it. He was huge, and it would soon fill her. She craved it more than her next heartbeat, but…God.

  “You still on the Pill?” he asked, the quiet question a soft breeze against her cheek. She nodded; he sometimes picked up her prescriptions from the drug store, but the inquiry still surprised her. “We need a condom?”

  Her heart thudded against her chest, and her fingers curled into the cushion of the ottoman. “Do you use one with…?” She couldn’t voice the rest of the sentence since just the thought of him with other women had knots twisting in her stomach.

  “Always,” he immediately replied.

  The implication slowly sank in. With the…others he protected himself. But with her, he didn’t have to. And except for her heart, she didn’t have to with him.

  “No. We don’t need a condom,” she breathed.

  He stilled, then a shudder shook him, echoing through her. One of his hands cupped her hip, and the other smoothed up her spine and curled around the back of her neck. And pressed.

  She obeyed the unspoken direction, lowering her upper body to the ottoman, her cheek and stomach pressed to the cushion, her arms stretching above her head and grasping a hold of the opposite edge. She waited, teetering on a precipice for him to fill her, brand her. And when his cock nudged her entrance, she couldn’t contain a moan. Even knowing that taking him wouldn’t be easy—not with his size and it having been at least two years since she’d last had sex—she wanted it. Craved it…craved him.

  He pushed into her, and the burn, the stretch of his cock possessing her drove the breath from her lungs. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gritted her teeth against the fire-laced pressure. And yet, underneath prowled the knowledge that this was Dom slowly, steadily burying himself inside her. That reality reignited the fire t
hat had dimmed with the startling claiming of her body. And when he finally stopped driving forward, when he stilled and only the thunder of their harsh breath reverberated in the room, she lifted her lashes and peeked at her and Dom in the mirror.

  They could’ve been an erotic statuette in a museum—frozen in the very act of seeking carnal pleasure, his powerful, godlike body etched in stark relief, hips pressed to her ass, clutching her to him. Beautiful. Sexual. And perfect.

  Gradually, as if each ticking second uncorked one of her senses, more sensations poured into her. The heady scent of their arousal, the sweat and musk that dampened their skin. The almost too-firm clench of his fingers into her hips. The bright, fevered stare that studied the place of their intimate connection. The faint flavor of his kiss still lingering on her tongue and lips. The discomfort between her legs ebbing and sliding into something darker, heated, and hungry.

  As if he sensed her gaze on him, he met hers in the glass. His eyes had always been an impossible shade of blue, but aflame with lust, they burned even brighter, hotter. Lowering his chest to her back, he covered her, his arms extending along the length of hers, his fingers curling over hers. They stared, together, as his hips flexed and rolled, and he massaged her feminine walls with his cock. Ohhhh God. He touched places in her… Her lashes fluttered, falling…

  “No, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “Open your eyes. Look at us. Look at me fucking you. Look at you taking me. I knew you could.” Another roll of those hips. Another deep stroke that stoked the need in her higher until she could only whimper. “So sweet, baby. Goddamn, this pussy…”

  He’d never spoken to her like this before—guttural, raw, dirty. And she loved it. She wanted to be his baby. His sweetheart. And if that didn’t mean she’d taken a left at Lost Your Fucking Mind Avenue, she didn’t know what did. But if he talked to her again in that graveled voice and did that thing again with his dick, she’d set up stakes and camp out there.