“You’re my home,” I say, hands shaking as I feel my orgasm building. “You’re all I want. You make me so fucking happy.”
“Ahh—” Her pussy clenches me tighter as she drops one hand from my shoulder, slipping it between us to tease her clit. “Fuck,” she screams, head tipping back as she comes.
The walls of her pussy squeeze me like a vise, and we both cry out, our bodies falling together as I lose all sense of rhythm. I’m wrapped around her and in her, my face buried at her neck, as I release. I spill into her, filling her with my cum.
We stay like that, clinging to each other, her ass perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. After a few moments, we loosen our hold on each other. I lean away, keeping my dick inside her as I cup her cheek and sprinkle her face with kisses. “I love you. Love the way you make me feel.”
She lets out a deep, shaky breath, and I feel her relax around me. Then she’s blinking up at me, the haze of her orgasm lifting as she comes to her senses. She gives me a little push, and I pull out, the warmth of our releases pooling between her legs and on the counter.
With a whimper, she reaches between her thighs, swiping her fingers through our release. Her green eyes are molten as she lifts her fingers to my lips. “Taste.”
I suck her fingers into my mouth, groaning at our taste on my tongue. It reminds me of another moment, only a few short months ago, that I had her finger in my mouth.
“Better than frosting?” she teases, reading my damn mind.
I nod, letting her fingers go. And because I can’t help myself, I do the same, swiping two fingers from pussy to clit, bringing it to her parted lips. She doesn’t hesitate, pulling my fingers into her mouth and teasing them with her tongue as she licks them clean. She lets them go with a pop, and then she’s slipping off the counter, ducking down to pull up her panties.
The haze of our joining dissipates, and I find myself standing in the middle of this empty kitchen with my dick wet, my pants around my ankles. The back doors are wide open. With a laugh, I duck down and pull up my pants, tucking myself away.
Fuck, this woman is trouble.
She steps around the island and walks back into the empty living room. “Why did you want me to meet you here?”
“What do you think?” I reply, gesturing around.
She glances from the kitchen to the whitewashed stone fireplace to the large, outdoor deck leading out to the beach. “It’s cute. What is it, two bedrooms?”
“Three,” I say. “Though the third bedroom is pretty small. The whole place is small, really. It’s just a bungalow. But it’s a new build, and it’s right on the water.”
She spins around, her face framed with curly red tendrils. “It’s supercute. Are you thinking of renting it?”
“I bought it.”
She gasps. “What?”
“Tess, I bought this house. My contracts are all approved. The Nike deal, the new deal with Bauer, my contract extension with the Rays. You’re looking at a guy with a twenty-million-dollar four-year contract and a four-mil signing bonus,” I say, unable to avoid puffing out my chest a bit.
“Four?” she says, eyes wide. “I thought it was three.”
“MK negotiated,” I say with a grin.
“Oh—Ryan, that’s amazing,” she cries, coming around the island to wrap her arms around me.
I let her hug me, taking another shameless hit off her scent. She’s all floral and coconutty. I want that scent bottled. I’ll wash all my sheets and clothes with it. I want to drown in her. But I know a Tess-scented detergent isn’t enough. I want her. I want everything.
She lets me go, spinning around again. “When do you move in?”
“Whenever I want,” I reply. “It’s ready now. Seller was motivated, and so was I.”
She smiles. “I’m really happy for you,” she says again. “How does it feel?”
I glance around and shrug, slipping my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Like it’s a house.”
“And they told me all you hockey boys lack common sense,” she teases.
I just smile, watching her fill up this empty space with her light. “It’s not a home, Tess.”
“Well, not yet. But you gotta give it a fighting chance. At least put down a rug. Maybe a couch here,” she says, pointing to a spot on the floor. “Plug in your Nintendo, toss a few boxes of Kraft mac and cheese in the pantry, and you’ve got yourself a Casa de Ryan.”
“That won’t make it my home,” I reply solemnly.