I still beneath him, seeking out his gaze. He meets me. His lips are parted, glistening with my kisses. “Who are you?” I whisper.
He stills too. “Wait…for real? Is the game over? Are we sharing names and tragic backstories now?”
I shake my head, one leg wrapping around him until my heel is digging into his ass. “Please don’t stop,” I whisper. “I need you. Please. Need to feel you. Need you in me.”
He sinks back over me. “Oh baby, I’ll never stop,” he soothes. “You’re mine. All fucking mine.” He rocks against me, lifting my leg to get the right angle as he presses in with the tip of his cock.
I’m so ready to feel him fill me up. I want him touching every part of me inside and out, body and soul. Even if all we have is tonight, I know I’ll never unhook this man from my essence. I know he feels it too.
But then he stills. “Shit—baby—fuck—” He pulls away with an almost painful whimper.
I gasp, reaching for him. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have a condom.”
7
Cue the fire and brimstone—the world is officially ending. Jake Compton doesn’t have a condom. I scramble off her, my dick literally screaming in pain. I was right. Fucking. There. The tip was in! For the first time in my life, I was about to ride a girl bare. I was so caught up in the moment, in her, in this crazy weird magic between us, that I seriously almost crossed that line.
I can hear the voice of every coach and team nurse I’ve ever had screaming in my head. Are you crazy, Compton? Safety first! Always safety first!
She sits up as I drop to one knee, scrambling to tug my wallet from the back pocket of my discarded jeans. But I know what I’m gonna find. Zippo. Nada. Zilch. I check anyway.
“Do you have one?”
I groan, slapping the wallet down. “No.”
She purses her lips, tucking her hair behind one ear. “You don’t seem like the type to come unprepared—”
“I’m not!” I bark, my desperation making me feel manic. No way am I losing out on the chance to be with this girl due to the slight hiccup of not having a condom. Mystery Girl will be mine if I have to run naked through this hotel and raid the lobby.
Okay, so that’s probably not the best idea. My agent would murder me if those pictures made the press…only if coach didn’t beat him to it. There’s also our scary new team PR liaison. She’s all of 5’0” and a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s intimidating as fuck. I’m always intimidated by a woman in a pencil skirt.
“Well…do you have any in your room?”
I shake my head, letting out a mirthless laugh. “Sure, yeah, I packed a box of condoms to spend a week with my sister!”
I hear her laugh softy behind me.
“I wasn’t exactly planning to get lucky while we were sharing the same room,” I add.
She lets out another little laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. I glance over at her and she chokes it down. “Sorry,” she murmurs, a smile in her eyes. “It’s not funny.”
“I don’t suppose you have any?” I ask, hoping against hope that maybe she might’ve been planning to ride someone’s dick this weekend. Why does that thought conjure up such a vivid mental image? And why am I now feeling irrationally angry?
She’s not riding anyone’s dick but mine.
Ever again if I can help it.
Fuck, lock it down, Compton. You cannot fall for this girl. You don’t even know her name.
“Sorry big guy,” she replies. “I wasn’t planning to get lucky at my brother’s gay wedding…where the only people not gay are members of my own extended family.”
I groan again, dragging my hands through my hair. “God—okay, what are the chances I walk out of here and come back to find you actually willing to let me back in the room?”
She sinks back onto the bed, her tits bouncing as her dark hair fans out around her. “You’re cute,” she murmurs, still smiling.
“I’m fucking desperate,” I growl, snatching up my discarded briefs.
“I mean…I’m clean if you are.”
Stop everything. Oh my god, my brain is gonna explode. If not my brain, my dick feels ready to burst too. Did she just say that? No.
Yes.
No fucking way. I’ve never been with a girl bare before. Never. It’s not safe. You have to use a condom. No rubber, no ride. Right?
“We can’t,” I say automatically. “It’s not safe.”
She rolls onto her side, which does wonders for her tits. Propping herself up on her elbow, she smiles at me. “You don’t need to worry about pregnancy. I have an IUD, and those are more effective than condoms anyway.”
I blink. “Shit…really?”
“Doctor, remember?” she says, pointing at her smiling face. “I’m also a sexually active and health proactive woman in the age of the internet,” she adds. “Condoms have upwards of an 18% fail rate, while with IUDs it’s less than 9%.”
My brain feels fuzzy. What kind of left-turn into Crazy Town have we taken that my dream girl is trying to use math to get me to fuck her?
“And I’m clean,” she goes on. “No STIs. No chance of one, really. It’s been a while thanks to work and life and…Oh, god—” She sits up, slipping off the bed. “I swear I’m not trying to pressure you.” She raises a soothing hand, brushing her fingers down my arm.
Is it that obvious I’m freaking the fuck out? I feel like I just finished a set of suicide sprints. My heart is racing. Pretty soon I’m gonna start sweating.
“We don’t have to do anything,” she adds gently. “Your health and comfort come first. Always. This has to be right for both of us. You can go get the condoms and—”
“I’m clean,” I blurt out, reaching forward to snatch her arms. I pull her to me, needing to feel her close again. “I have to get tested all the time. Drugs, steroids, all the illegals. They do blood and urine tests on us like twice a month, sometimes more going into playoff season. I bet I have more thorough medical records than some of your patients.”
“And you’re clean?” she says with a raised brow.
“As a whistle,” I reply, raising two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
She laughs, the sound soft and musical. Lifting that hand with the little star tattoos, she brushes my hair back on my brow. She keeps doing that. She keeps touching my hair, and I fucking love it. I don’t typically let the bunnies get up close and personal like this. We often don’t even leave the bar or the stadium or wherever I pick them up. I don’t like kissing them either. Their lips always feel sticky from that gloss chicks wear.
Not Mystery Girl. Her lips are buttery smooth. She has me all twisted up in knots. I’ve kissed her more tonight already than I’ve kissed anyone in years. I want to lean into her every touch like a dog. I want to curl up in her lap, my face buried in that sweet pussy, and I never wanna leave.
“I’ll wait for you to get condoms,” she murmurs, brushing kisses across my chest.
Fuck, her lips feel so good, soft and seeking.