Текст книги "The Game Plan"

Автор книги: Kristen Callihan

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Drew nods, then drifts back to his phone.

Rolondo shrugs. “As long as we don’t go to one of Johnson’s strip bars, I’m cool with anything.”

“You’d rather we go to one of your strip bars?” Johnson asks.

“Naw, wouldn’t want you to develop a complex about your shortcomings, man.”

“There ain’t nothing short on me. And when I make a lady come, it takes all night.”

“Takes all night to make her come? Yeah, I’d buy that.”

As Rolondo and Johnson bait each other, I glance back at Drew, who is still eyeing his phone and being awfully quiet. “Seriously, Baylor, I’m about to confiscate that thing.”

He raises a brow at me, and gives me his old, innocent grin—which I am not falling for. “You really are a mom, aren’t you?”

“As I recall, you played the role of Mom. I was Dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean we’re on a date now? And all I get is this lousy dinner?” Drew leans his arms on the table. “Where are my flowers?”

“I’ll make it up to you with sweet talk later. Now answer the question, Battle. What the hell is up with the phone?”

As if I’ve activated it, the damn thing lights up, and Drew glances down. He fights to hide his smile. “What can I say? I’m totally pussy whipped by my wife to be. That’s right, I’m replacing you with Anna.” With that, he presses his palms to the tabletop. “Gentlemen, time to wrap this up. I have a phone date to get to.”

Oddly, the guys don’t go the obvious route and give Drew shit. They glance at me and then at each other—not exactly subtle, though I know they think they are.

“What now?” I ask, glaring around.

“Nothing, man,” Rolondo assures. “Stop being so uptight. It isn’t all about you, D.”

His expression says different, but I let it slide.

Johnson pulls out some bills. “My treat this time, yeah?”

“Excuse me while I take in this moment,” Rolondo says expansively, his arms open wide. “Johnson—punk ass, cheap motherfucker Johnson—is paying.”

“Man, shut the fuck up,” Johnson says with a laugh. “We meeting up for coffee in the morning?”

“Yeah, man,” Rolondo says. “I’ll pay that.”

“Talk about cheap.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, boy.”

“And the cheapest.”

“I’ll pay every meal for the season’s meet-ups if you two will shut up now,” Drew says.

Since graduation, we’ve made it a point to meet up a few times a year. Sometimes there are more of us, sometimes less. Mostly we meet when we’re playing a game against each other. But the Red Dog team will always be brothers.

Drew is hurrying us along, all but pushing Johnson toward the door.

I’ve always envied what Drew has with Anna. Not the sex, but the knowledge that there was someone he belonged to. Even when he was suffering when they first got together, I envied him. Because his emotions with her were real. Honest.

My whole life feels like one long fog of numbness, punctuated by manufactured pain. The tats, the piercing, hard hits on the field—all of them ways to make me feel something other than bland indifference.

But with Fi, I’m alive. I anticipate every single breath because it’s another moment closer to getting back to her.

I follow the guys out, but my mind is on Fi, and the ache around my heart grows. I miss her so much that at first I think I’m imagining her leaning against the side of a black town car.

A balmy southern breeze drifts over the road, lifting the ends of her golden hair and making the skirt of her dress sway. She’s wearing a white sundress dotted with brilliant red cherries. That dress with the little teasing red bow just below her breasts. That dress has haunted me for what seems like an eternity. I’ve dreamed of sinking to my knees and lifting its skirt to find the prize beneath. She’s wearing that dress for me.

I’m frozen in place, surely gaping at her as the guys walk past. Out of the corner of my eye, I see their smug faces. Drew gives Fi a nod.

“Thank you, Drew Bee,” she says to him, drawing out the initial in his last name with affection.

“Any time, Fi-Fi.” His smile is wide and satisfied.

I remember that they know each other and live in the same town and hang out. I’m instantly jealous of Drew for that. But he clearly helped set up this meeting with my girl, so I can’t hold it against him.

My attention is on Fi anyway. On her hesitant smile, the shine of happiness in her eyes. She lifts her arm, holding up a plastic produce bag full of something lumpy.

Her slightly husky voice drifts over the space between us. “I know guys bring girls flowers, but I figured you’d be more into food. So I brought you some cherries—”

Her words cut off with a squeak as I wrap my arms around her slim frame and lift her high. I kiss her without hesitation, opening her mouth with mine, my tongue sliding along hers. She tastes of cherries and Fi, and smells of joy.

My joy. My Fi.

Like that, I’m overwhelmed. Fuck, I’m almost weepy. And I’m all but mauling her on the street.

My voice is rough when I pull back and smile down at her. “Did you eat some of my cherries?”

Her nose wrinkles. “I had to see if they were okay. I’m not going to give you subpar cherries.”

“You’ve got a whole theme going here.”

“I’m not very subtle, Ethan,” she says with a goofy grin. “Better get used to it now.”

“Don’t ever change.”

She’s still in my arms, her feet dangling around my shins, those sweet tits of hers pressed against my chest. I can’t help kissing her again, on the warm spot just below her ear, the corner of her mouth, which always makes her shiver.

Hell, I can’t stop kissing her period.

And she’s running her fingers across my nape, massaging the tight muscles there as if she knows how badly I need it.

“Fi…” I can’t even talk.

“Show me your home, Big Guy.”

Problem is, I don’t think I’ll be able to let her go once she gets there.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fiona

Ethan insists on walking. It’s a nice night; the air almost balmy. And though it’s November, it’s in the 70s—warm enough to wear this silly cherry sundress and a cardigan. But it was worth it to see Dex’s wide smile unfurl when his gaze slid over me. Yeah, he knew I wore the dress for him. And it lit him up with happiness. So. Totally. Worth. It.

“Aren’t you afraid of being spotted?” I ask as we amble along, his arm around me, my head resting against the warmth of his chest.

He stops and kisses me—soft, seeking, a smile on his lips as he pulls away. “Not really. No one’s around. I got my cap on.” He gives the brim of gray his newsboy cap a tug as he winks. “And I don’t exactly look like myself.”

No. He’s not in his standard jeans and tee, but wearing soft black slacks and a light knit dress sweater that covers his trademark tats. He looks more dapper-New-Orleans gentleman than football player now.

Drew and his friends have driven off, making a lot of noise that I suspect was designed to bring attention to them and away from Ethan. They’re good friends, loyal. I know they’ll do anything to protect him. And yet I sense there’s a wall between Ethan and, well, everyone but me.

“Your friends never call you Ethan. Always Dex or Dexter. Why?”

He shrugs. “I’ve always been Dex to them. I’m not even sure some of them know my first name. It’s who I am.”

The casual way he accepts that bothers me. I want to shout, wave my fist in the air, something. As it is, my voice comes out fierce and angry. “You’re more than that. So much more.”

“Only for you.” He touches my face, runs the blunt tips of his fingers along my temple, as he looks at me with such tenderness my heart hurts. “No one else gets all of me, Cherry.”

This man. I know he isn’t trying to do it, but he always says the one thing guaranteed to turn my world on its head. My ire on his behalf dissipates, leaving behind the soft warmth of contentment.

Smiling, I rest my cheek in the palm of his hand. “Just so you know, no one else gets to call me silly fruit names.”

The white of his teeth flashes in the shadow of his beard. “I know.” His thumb caresses my cheek. “I’ve missed your face.”

“I missed your…everything.” It has been two weeks. An eternity when it comes to my need for him.

He kisses me again as we walk, and I grow lightheaded, giggling against his lips—drunk off Ethan.

And he seems that way too, the both of us laughing at nothing but the joy of being together, stopping every few feet to kiss, touch each other’s faces, because we can.

It starts to rain, a gentle fall that brings out the scents of the city, the baking brick walkways, the warm scents of cooking, and underneath it all, a faint, murky odor of mildew and rot that gives the city a sense of age that New York refuses to acquire.

Around us drift lilting strains of jazz, hard beats of rock, the twang of country, disjointed notes of pop. It all melds together to make its own song. The rain feels soft, sluicing over our skin, warm and wet.

We pass Bourbon Street and move deeper into the French Quarter, away from the river. On a quiet street, Ethan backs me against a pair of glossy black French doors, protected from the rain by a stucco archway.

He cups my cheeks and kisses me like he aches for it. Slow, fevered, deep. Soft licks of my upper lip, hard nips of my lower lip. It feels so good, I shiver against him, my hands fisting his sweater.

He’s so big, he blots out the light of the street entirely, and I know I’m hidden behind him in this damp little nook. His hands span the sides of my neck, his thumbs on my jaw, holding me where he wants me.

I can only whimper, cling to him, kiss him back for all I’m worth.

One big hand slides down my chest, covering my breast and giving it a possessive squeeze before gliding lower, past my ribs, my hip. He leans further into me, his chest against mine as he reaches down and gathers my skirt.

“Did you know,” he murmurs almost conversationally against my lips, “that when you get all breathless and make those little whimpers…” His fingers brush the crease of my hip, tracing the edge of my panties. “I always find you…” He slips under my panties. “Wet.” His body shudders as the rough pad of his finger rubs along my slick flesh. “Always so fucking wet for me.”

“Yes.”

“God, just feel you. You’re dripping onto my fingers.” A fine tremor works down his arm as his eyes flutter closed and he kisses me again. Again. Again.

He’s spinning a spell over me, making my limbs heavy and hot. My sex pulses, loving the attention, wanting more of it.

His fingers find my opening, and I whimper. He dips in just enough for me to feel it, to want more, then drifts away, strokes and circles, a lazy, languid exploration.

“Ethan…” I wiggle my hips, desperate to get him deeper. “Stop playing with me.”

He gives my upper lip a little lick, and still he gently fondles. “You love it.”

I do. So much. But I’m incapable of speech right now. I can only whine and rock my hips, wanting more. He holds me fast, not relenting.

“Say it, Cherry. Tell me how much you love it, and I’ll give you what you need.”

Licking my swollen lips, I look up at him, his face a collection of shadows in the dim light. “I love it, Ethan. Fuck me with those long fingers, and then shove your fat cock into me.”

His breath leaves with a gust. “Well played, darlin’.” He plunges deep, hard, and there. That’s all it takes to set me off. The orgasm rushes over me so fast, I suck in breaths like I’m drowning.

Ethan works his fingers slow and steady, his other hand cupping my neck, his lips coasting over mine as if he wants to drink up my pleasure.

And when I finally relax against him, my body limp and spent, he pulls his fingers out and lifts them to his lips to suck them clean. “Sweetest thing I’ve had in my mouth all night.”

A weak laugh escapes me. “I’ve created a monster.”

Ethan just grins wider before turning his attention to the little control panel beside my head. “Watch carefully now.” He moves to punch in a number, but I stop him with a little cry.

“This is your house? We were going at it right in front of your house?”

He doesn’t stop smiling. “You sound annoyed.”

“Well…” I’m flustered. “Why didn’t we go in? You know…” My cheeks heat. “Before.” I don’t even know why I’m being prudish. I certainly didn’t mind.

A laugh rumbles in his chest, and he gives me a look as if he is thinking the same thing. “That was the plan. But then I felt your sweet body against mine, and it was all over.”

Biting his lower lip as if to keep from smiling any longer, he punches in the code: 11-55-88. The door clicks open. “Did you get it?”

“Yes.” I force myself to stand taller.

“Good.” He nods toward the panel. “Remember it. Any time you want to come here, my house is open to you. Any time, Fi. For as long as you want.”

The back of my throat tickles. I stare up at him, struck dumb and only able to squeeze his big hand with my much smaller one. It feels momentous, what he’s done. Huge. The kind of commitment that speaks of permanence.

It’s terrifying and wonderful all in one breath. So I say the only thing I can. “Am I wrong, or wasn’t Gray’s college jersey number eighty-eight?”

Ethan blinks, clearly expecting something else, but he nods. “Yep. Drew’s was eleven. Mine was, and still is, fifty-five.”

“Aww. Aren’t you cute?” He’s perfect. And mine.

“It’s easy to remember,” he says gruffly. “Now let’s get inside.”

Fiona

The door to Ethan’s house opens to a little carriage way, lit by an overhead wrought-iron lantern. We follow the path to a private courtyard.

“Wow,” I say as we walk farther into it. “This is beautiful.”

Frosted globe lanterns are hung across the yard. Little lights twinkle in the ivy-covered walls surrounding a garden of crepe myrtle and various palms. In the center, an ornate fountain runs.

“It came like this,” Dex says at my elbow. He glances around as if seeing it from my eyes. A loggia covered in bougainvillea shelters a double-wide lounger. There’s a massive tractor tire to one side of the courtyard. As in, it’s as wide as I am tall. His lips quirk at the sight of it. “Well, except for the tire.”

“You gonna tell me what’s up with the tire?”

He ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck. “I whack it with a sledgehammer. Sometimes I flip it.”

“Oh, sure. Because why not?”

“Does the job. But that’s for off-season training.” So nonchalant. But he can’t really hide his smug grin.

“That’s got to weigh, what?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders. “A thousand pounds.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “Get the hell out.”

Dex winks. “JJ Watt does it, so I do it too. No way am I going to be caught with my dick in the wind facing one of those defensive linemen coming at me like a tank.”

As unassuming as Dex can be, he’s also fiercely competitive.

I give his arm a squeeze. Not one ounce of give. “My big, strong man.”

“Yes, I am,” he says without hesitation, then surveys the courtyard. “The narrow building along the side is a guest house. The building at the back is an old carriage house, now a garage on the ground floor, and my painting studio is above it.

“You can look around tomorrow,” he finishes, his voice soft, his hand warm in mine. He’s pulling me toward the main house. We go up a flight of stairs, straight to the second floor. We walk past a large, open living room—exposed brick walls, wide, worn wooden floorboards—and through a gourmet kitchen. More exposed brick. Huge center island, stainless steel appliances, white marble counters.

I want to soak it all in, but Dex is on a mission, leading me along with purposeful steps.

“Not hungry?” I tease as we pass through.

He glances back at me, heat and need in his eyes. “Not for food.” He wrinkles his nose. “Christ, that was cheesy, wasn’t it?”

I laugh. “It was cute.”

“Cute,” he repeats. “Just what every guy wants to be called.” He hesitates at the doorway leading out of the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I should have asked. I’ve—”

“Not for food,” I tell him. Because I can be cheesy too.

That has him picking up his pace. We take a set of stairs to the top floor. His bedroom overlooks the courtyard. And the dim light from the outside lanterns slants through the massive paned windows, half covered by louvered shutters. There isn’t much in here, just a big club chair, a dresser, and a king bed with a padded leather headboard.

I smell the pine of the floorboards, the spicy scent of Ethan’s skin. It’s warm and quiet in his room. Quiet enough to hear his soft breaths and the steady pounding of my heart. He stands before me, so big and present; I feel his warmth even though we’re not yet touching.

Slowly he reaches up and slides off my damp cardigan. Gentle fingers ease the strap of my sundress down. When my breast pops free, he moves to the other side, pulling the strap until the other is exposed. Ethan has seen me naked, licked and sucked every inch of me, but standing here now, on display for him, makes me so hot. I struggle to catch my breath.

It grows erratic when he gives a little hum of satisfaction and runs the tips of his fingers across my nipples. Back and forth, barely touching them. God. I fight the urge to arch into his touch, because it’s hotter to hold back, to let him fondle me while my nipples grow stiff and achy.

He circles them, worrying the tips with the rough pads of his fingers, and then, without warning, pinches—pulling until my breasts stretch—before letting go.

My breasts bob back into place, and I whimper, my knees going weak.

“I had this whole seduction thing planned,” he whispers as he plays with me, stroking, tweaking. It’s almost lewd the way he handles me as if I’m his plaything, except it’s reverent too. “But I don’t think I can wait.”

I lick my dry lips. I’m close to coming now, and he’s only touching my tits. “Don’t wait,” I say.

His gaze catches mine. In the shadows, he looks so serious, almost fierce. But I know that expression. It’s need. Strong and pure. Just like him. I lift his damp sweater over his head and wrap my arms around his neck. The press of his warm skin against mine makes us both groan. With a sigh, I kiss the hollow of his throat. That’s all it takes.

Soft bedding surrounds me and Ethan’s hard body covers mine. There’s no more talking.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fiona

Sweat-slick and limp with exhaustion, I lie draped over Ethan’s naked body. I love that he’s so big not an inch of me hangs over the edges of him. Even so, his arm wraps loosely around my waist, holding me secure as if he’s afraid I’ll fall. His fingers trace random patterns on my back.

“How do you want to handle this?” I ask him.

His body tenses, so I know he understands my question. “Nothing to handle. I’ll just make no comment, and it will go away.”

I lift my head so I can rest my chin on his chest. “I hate to say this, but I’m not sure it will go away all that quickly. Maybe… Well, why don’t you just tell them you’re with me?”

“No.” He practically shouts the word, his lips flattening. And my heart caves in as if it’s been stomped.

“You don’t want to tell people about us?”

Instantly, he cups my cheek, his eyes going wide. “Shit, Fi, I did not mean I was ashamed or wanted to hide it. I mean there is no way in hell I’m bringing you into a media shit show.”

“That really should be my decision. Especially if it helps you. And I want to help you, Ethan.”

With a sigh, he flops his head back on the pillows and stares up at the ceiling, his hand still stroking my cheek. “Thank you for that, Cherry. But I can’t…” He takes a ragged breath. “Don’t ask me to agree to that. I couldn’t take seeing them tear you apart.” He glances down at me, his eyes now golden-green in the lamplight. “Please.”

“All right,” I say with reluctance. “For now. But, I swear, if a bunch of crazy women start stalking you, I’m stepping in.”

A slow smile curls over his firm lips. “Kind of love you being all possessive, Fi.”

I harrumph, but give his chest a little kiss. “I am sorry, though. That this is happening, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “Me too.”

We grow quiet, lost in our own thoughts, Dex stroking my hair and me drifting in a strange half-sleep state.

“Six Underground” by the Sneaker Pimps plays softly from a set of bedside speakers.

“I never asked how you came to like trip-hop music,” I murmur, too content to talk louder.

“Are you asking me now?” There’s a smile in his voice.

“Smartass.” I give his ribs a little nudge, loving the way he squirms as if it tickles. “And yes. I told you when we first kissed that I didn’t expect you to like this music. It’s still a surprise.”

He takes a breath, and I lift along with his chest. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”

“That’s basically assuring I’ll laugh.”

“Fine. Laugh it up,” he says. “It was a car commercial. I kept hearing this song and…” He cranes his head to glare down at me, though there’s a smile on his lips. “You’re laughing already?”

I smother my laugh. “It was the same for me, is all.”

His lips twitch, those hazel eyes of his gleaming more gold than blue now. “Which song?”

“It was two songs. Morcheeba’s ‘Crimson’ and Massive Attack’s ‘Paradise Circus’. You?”

“Zero Seven’s ‘In the Waiting Line’.”

“I love that song. They used it in Sex and the City too.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” With a grunt, he turns, and suddenly I’m on the bed and he’s over me, his warm body gently pressed to mine. His lips find my neck and suckle. “God, I love the way you smell.”

My fingers comb back his loose hair. “And how do I smell?”

“Like happy dreams and well-fucked woman.”

A shout of laughter leaves me, and I tug him closer as he works his way along my collarbone, his hand sliding up to my breast. The thick slab of his erection presses against my thigh, tempting me, but I let the anticipation build for now.

“I love the way you smell too.”

He pauses, his lips brushing my shoulder, his beard tickling my breast. “How do I smell?”

“Like…” I smile up at the ceiling as I consider. “Pancakes and midnight.”

“Oh?” His voice is muffled as he resumes exploring my neck and teasing my nipple with the blunt tip of his thumb.

I squirm, trying to open my legs wider to let him settle between them. He does with a low groan, but doesn’t enter me. He’s waiting for my answer.

My voice is breathless, distracted as I am by his roaming lips. “You know…” I kiss his temple, the crest of his cheek, “when you’ve had a night of sweaty, hot fucking…” I give the line of his jaw a little nuzzle. “Going at it until you can barely move. And you’ve worked up an appetite that only a stack of pancakes and more hot sex will satisfy?”

Ethan lifts his head then, his eyes slumberous but his expression careful. “You had a lot of those nights?”

It hits me what I’ve said, and my fingers tighten his hair as I tell him the absolute truth. “Only with you, Ethan. That’s why it’s your scent.”

God, his smile, it unfurls like a spring leaf to the rain, spreading wide and open. “Good answer.”

Unfortunately, my stomach also has an answer, and that’s to make a God awful growl as if talk of food has released the hunger hounds.

Ethan grins wide, and a laugh rolls out of him. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch that last bit there.”

“Shut up.” I slap his shoulder while blushing hot over my entire body. “We’ve been at it for hours.”

“And hours,” he confirms with a solemn nod, though the smug satisfaction in his expression grows.

Before I can say a word, he leaps up, hauling me with him. I squeal as he lifts me with one arm. “Ethan, what the hell?”

He strides out of the bedroom. So much for being depleted. His stamina awes me. “Where do you think? To go make you some pancakes. I need to keep up my girl’s strength.”

Dex

Despite my good intentions, my plan to feed Fi pancakes goes south as soon as she tells me we need flour to make them.

“Shit,” I say, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. Fi’s clinging to me like a little barnacle, her legs wrapped around my waist, her pussy pushed against my abs—which threatens to break my will and turn me back to the bedroom.

She smiles with sleepy but lust-filled eyes. “You’ve never made pancakes, have you?”

“I’m not much of a cook. Hang on.” I walk us over to the fridge. Holding her tight with one arm, I open the door and bend to rummage through it.

Fi makes another of her adorable squeals as we tilt down. But I’ve got her. She isn’t going to fall on my watch. She weighs next to nothing.

Vague fantasies of doing drills while carrying Fi on my back drift through my head as I grab a box of takeout and set her on the counter, earning another squeak.

“Shit, that’s cold,” she says with a laugh. But she leans back on one arm and gives me a cheeky grin, her golden hair sticking out wildly around her face.

Damn, but she’s gorgeous. So fucking perfect for me, she takes my breath. Sweet, perky tits with puffy nipples that always seem to be begging for a suck. Tiny waist and wide hips. A butt that’s more than a handful. A true Tinker Bell body.

Though I’d never call her Tink the way Ivy and Gray do. She might be diminutive, but to me, she’s also larger than life.

Grasping her knees, I spread her thighs wide. Ah, and there’s that pretty pink pussy, all glistening for me. My favorite spot in the entire world. I step between her legs and rub her gloriously curvy hips. “I’ll warm you up.”

“I’m sure you will,” she murmurs, her gaze roaming over my chest in a possessive way that fills me with pride and gratitude.

“First, though, I promised to feed you.” I grab the takeout box and pull out a Chinese dumpling.

Fi’s brows lift. “Cold dumplings?”

“Best late-night snack ever.” I hold the dumpling near her lips. “Trust me.”

Her expression is dubious but she takes a bite and makes a little moan of contentment.

“Good, yeah?”

She swallows down her bite and opens her mouth for more.

Carefully, I feed her dumplings until she tells me she’s done. Then I hand her some water. “All good?” I ask, kissing the sensitive little corner of her mouth.

“Yes.”

Good. Licking my fingers to get the dumpling grease off, I step closer. “Sorry I couldn’t give you pancakes at midnight.”

I run my hands up her soft thighs. One tug and she’s at the edge of the counter. Fi’s eyes narrow, her plump lips curling in a sly smile.

I smile back, not saying a word but letting her know she’s mine all the same. The tip of my cock brushes her entrance. She’s slick and warm, and holds all my attention.

A light shiver runs over her body. “Dumplings are a pretty good alternative.”

“Mmm.” I nudge her just slightly, taking hold of her hips to keep her steady. “Dumplings and deep-dicking.”

She laughs at that. “Deep-dick—Oh!”

I thrust without warning.

“Oh!” Fi gasps again, her back arching, as I push my way deeper inside. Her tits lift like an offering. Well, then… I swoop forward and capture one rosy tip with my mouth.

“Oh, shit,” she whispers, her brows furrowed tight and her mouth open on a hot pant. “Oh, shit, Ethan.”

I don’t stop but pull her farther onto my dick, loving how she whimpers and wiggles as she struggles to accommodate me but clearly wants every inch I can give her.

It’s a snug fit, the warm, wet clasp of her squeezing me so hard I feel it in my balls and down my thighs.

When I bottom out, I pause because it’s just too good. But Fi is grasping my hair, shoving her tit in my mouth like she’ll die if I don’t suck harder, and writhing as if she needs more.

And I can’t hold back. We both groan as I work her in an easy, undulating rhythm that has no pause, because it’s heaven fucking Fi. Pure, perfect heaven. Every thrust I take grows a little harder, goes a little deeper, my piercing sliding over that spot within her that has her gasping a reedy “ah!” each time.

I mouth her nipple, my tongue sliding over it. Heat licks up my thighs and down my spine. I groan, slamming into her, again and again. And she loves it, her hands gripping my shoulders, her legs wrapping tight around my waist as she slumps against the marble countertop.

“Ethan. Ethan.” It’s a weak, needy cry.

I bend over her, practically crawling onto the counter with her, pumping with blind lust now. She’s utterly beautiful spread out before me, her expression slack with pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” she says.

I won’t. I can’t.

This. This is what I want, what I need, this connection with Fiona in whatever variation I can get for as long as I can.

She comes on a sob, and it breaks me. How am I going to let her go again? My orgasm takes my breath, my voice. I empty myself into her, giving her everything I have, and it won’t be enough to keep her here.

It’s never enough.