Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)(89)
He added a third finger, the resulting wet sound like a hymn in his ears, and bore down with a firm tongue, rubbing her slippery clit until her fingers were twisting in his hair, her gasps growing closer together and then her fever broke at once, the taste of her coating his tongue and fingers, her hips shaking on the leather seat.
“Wells,” she cried out, her elbow inadvertently hitting the horn on the cart, her thighs wrapping tightly around his head to ride out that last wave—and then she was sliding forward and off the seat, catching Wells off guard and forcibly pushing him onto his back in the grass.
She moaned when she saw his dick was already out, hard as nails. Still trembling from her climax, she straddled him, hooking her middle finger around the edge of her soaked, stretched-out panties to keep them pulled to one side, then sank down onto the shaft he offered in his shaking hand. A symphony of obscenities flooded his brain when she took him whole, planting her palms on his shoulders and starting to buck her hips.
“That was so good,” she said breathlessly. “Oh my God, that was so good.”
He had to dig deep for the ability to speak, being inside of her was so off-the-charts incredible. The flesh that welcomed him deep, deep, deep, was swollen from pleasure. Juicy. And there was something about this woman being hot enough for his cock to wrestle him onto his back that made one thing clear. This was going to be the best nut of his life. “What’s this?” he rasped. “A reward?”
“One hundred percent.” She shoved his T-shirt to his throat and raked her tongue over his right nipple, before biting it. Hard. “I guess I don’t have any shame, either.”
Wells was overcome by lust so fucking thick, he had no control of his body as he jackknifed into a sitting position, breathing out of control, both hands on her taut butt cheeks, yanking her as tight to his lap as she would go, while he plundered her mouth with his tongue. There was no such thing as too close or too frantic, they’d gone past any semblance of holding back or playing it cool. They went at it like mating animals in the grass, her hips slapping against him, their lips battling for the deepest taste, fingertips bruising flesh, his heart elevated to his throat and getting stuck there. Completely stuck.
I’m so gone for this woman.
She’s not just the one. She’s . . . the rest of me.
“How was I surviving before, baby?” Wells flipped their positions, rolling her roughly onto her back and hitting a breakneck pace, her knees damn near in her armpits. “What was I doing without you?”
He was afraid of her answer, afraid that he’d exposed too much, so he fastened his mouth over Josephine’s and let the intense blast of relief hit him like a steamroller. It hurt so good, he roared brokenly into their kiss, his hips slamming down those final few times, before stiffening, his balls almost stinging from the sudden loss of pressure. Sweet mother of God.
Like before, he literally had no control of his muscles or intentions as he dropped, totally depleted of anything resembling strength, yet somehow he was the most powerful man alive, because this woman, this gift from heaven, his partner, had perfect breaths that matched his own. And she wasn’t going anywhere. She’s not going anywhere.
For now, whispered a voice in the back of his head.
Chapter Thirty-One
Josephine woke up to find her boyfriend pacing naked in the living room, arguing into his phone. He hadn’t even bothered to close the blinds, thus the Florida sunshine was bathing his backside in a warm, almost ethereal glow that made Josephine hold up her own phone and snap a picture. For posterity—or posterior’s sake. Both maybe?
When Wells noticed Josephine had entered the living room, he gave her a slow grin that made little fairies roll around in her belly, giggling and firing pixie dust from finger guns.
Oh my goodness.
This was love. Adoration, affection, connection. And definitely lust.
She’d never actually had to change her sheets in the middle of the night because they’d gotten too sweaty, but there was a first time for everything. Since she didn’t have to temper the desire to have a million first times with Wells, she smiled back at him, letting the welling sensation in her chest reach her eyes. And Josephine must have done a good job portraying how indescribably perfect and right it felt to wake up with this man, because he stopped pacing and stared at her, his Adam’s apple unmoving beneath his chin.
“I was going to need to change my flight to California, anyway,” he said into the phone. “I want to be on the same flight as Josephine.”
In the wake of that gruff pronouncement—and the increasing storm of pixie dust in her belly— Josephine could hear the faint voice of a man talking on the other end of the line.
“Hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker,” Wells interrupted, tapping the screen of his phone. “You’re on with me and Josephine.”
“Nice to meet you, Josephine. I’m Nate. You need a manager stat, honey.”
“No, she doesn’t. And don’t call her honey.”
An electronic snicker filled the apartment. “Sorry. Josephine. I was just telling your boy here that both of you need to get to California a couple of days early. Under Armour wants to meet with their new power duo to play kissy face. They also want to make sure Mr. Whitaker is still on the straight and narrow before they outfit the team for another tournament. You’ve also got some press to do. A practice round. I don’t know who this fucker thinks he is, rolling into town the night before a tournament starts.”