“That’s it,” he growls when I straddle his thigh and rub against his leg for friction. “You need more, baby?”
A finger dips inside me, teasingly, softly.
“More,” I whisper, and he chuckles as he picks me up as if I weigh nothing, and my legs wrap around his waist. We’ve had sex a hundred different ways since I moved in, and this is my favorite way, him displaying his strength while I get to look into his face and hold his eyes.
He pushes my back against the wall and stares down at me with yearning in his gaze. Firm hands hold my ass as his cock head slides into me, then out, just his tip, again and again until I’m writhing in his embrace.
Finally, he goes deeper, his shoulders shuddering as sensations whip over him.
“Darling,” he growls and sinks deeper, his cock like steel.
My fingers grab his hair; then I clench my muscles around him, making him gasp. His body then owns mine with devilish intent, his hips thrusting into me as he presses me against the tile. He feels so good, and each time he exits, I beg for more, to feel every delicious inch of him, every vein and ridge, and he delivers, his dick pumping into my pussy over and over.
Groaning in satisfaction, he rocks into me, and I whimper with need, rubbing my breasts against his chest seductively, inviting him to go harder, to fuck me like he can’t live without it.
I get lost in the sounds we make, the moans and groans and sighs of pleasure, the wet sound of our bodies in the water. He takes me with unflinching remorse, his eyes blown and dilated as he looks down at me.
He slows, his rhythm easing into long, languorous strokes as he draws out the intensity and my begging for release. He snatches my mouth with a deep kiss as his fingers circle my clit with each thrust.
I come suddenly, without warning, the sharpness almost painful in its glory, and it’s the best fucking orgasm ever, making my body writhe and shake and tremble. My face goes to his throat as I scream out, my muscles contracting and spasming over and over. Emotion, deep and from my heart, overwhelms me. “I love you,” I whisper into his neck, my lips tasting his skin, smelling his unique cherry-and-leather scent.
He pauses for a long moment, then resumes, his hands holding me tight, more tightly than before; then he goes over the edge to his own bliss.
Our heavy breaths are the only sounds uttered as he gathers himself. Then, with a pat of my bottom, he lets me down, shuts off the water, and tells me he’s going to get dressed and head to the stadium.
Without meeting my eyes, he wraps a towel around his waist, hands me one, then leaves the room.
Tears prick my eyelids. I didn’t mean to say those words. I didn’t.
He didn’t reply to them. He didn’t even acknowledge them.
My throat prickles with tears, and I fight them down.
It’s okay.
I’m fine.
It’s just another day.
And nothing bad is going to happen.
Or maybe my confession is the bad thing that happened . . .
Chapter 27
EMMY
The stadium is alive with excitement as I make my way through the buzzing throng of spectators. The guard at the gate checks my lanyard before nodding toward the stands. I squint against the bright sun and make out Vale’s figure in the packed seats near the fifty-yard line. He waves his hand to catch my attention.
Breathing in the smell of popcorn, burgers, and beer, I wing my way through the tightly packed bodies and reach the spot where Vale has saved me a seat. He pops an eyebrow at me. “You ready for this? Exhibition games bring out all kinds of fans. It’s a good way to get used to real game-day craziness.”
I nod in agreement, taking in the scene as players in their gold-and-black uniforms either run drills or talk to fans. People clamor around them, waiting in line for autographs and photos. Around me, everyone talks excitedly; I can almost taste the thrill in the air. I get why he loves the game. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to stop myself from reading about his injury.
I’m a bundle of nerves, my stomach in knots. I want to run to Graham and beg him not to play.
“Nice jersey,” Brody says to me as he ambles over, holding a hot dog, popcorn, and a beer.
“Thanks. Graham got his number put on one for me,” I say with a smile as he plops down next to Vale.
Graham breaks into a sprint, jogging over to us as he removes his helmet. His hair blows wildly in the breeze as he gestures for me to come closer and join him in the first row, which is taped off from the rest of the stands.
“Hey,” he says when I reach him. “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure if you would.”