She’s going to kill me.
“As soon as you’re done coming in your panties, belle, I’m going to put my cock inside you,” he said an inch from her ear. Sensing how close she was, Wells pushed more firmly against that breach between her cheeks and felt her begin to shake, her mouth falling open on a gasp of his name. “You sure about letting me come in it with no rubber?”
Her breath caught. “Yes,” she managed, before pitching into an orgasm, right there as he watched, her hands twisting in the front of his shirt, her mouth gasping against his lips—and he attacked it with a kiss, knowing she was in search of an anchor and honored, desperate, aching to provide her with one. Oh Jesus, she was fucking magnificent, grinding into his thigh and kissing him with a total lack of self-consciousness. In a way that made him feel like he’d dragged the world’s greatest treasure into the dark to selfishly keep and experience for himself—and hell, that’s exactly what he’d done, hadn’t he?
Mine.
Josephine, you’re mine.
Those big green eyes connected with his, nearly rocketing his heart out through his mouth. In a blind panic over what she made him feel, Wells slid her off his thigh, whipped her around to face the lockers, flipped up her skirt, and stripped her damp, twisted panties down to her ankles. “Kick them off, Josephine. Nothing to keep me from spreading your legs.”
While she did as he asked, flattening her palms on the locker in front of her, Wells unfastened his belt and lowered his zipper, hissing out a breath while traveling over the aching inches of his erection. Shoving his pants and briefs down to his knees, he trapped Josephine’s hips with his left forearm, drawing her up to the very tips of her toes, all while panting, panting, in anticipation of feeling this woman from the inside. He rubbed his cock against her slippery entrance, groaning hoarsely into the nape of her neck.
“Josephine . . .” He was almost afraid of the words that wanted to leave his mouth, but he closed his eyes and let them tumble out, anyway, because it was her. “This . . . you and me. We’re about more than golf. Or some incentive to win. We’re more than that. But tell me I earned you, anyway.” He pressed the head of his dick inside her, groaning through a gentle thrust and knew, instantly, that he’d never want to fuck another woman as long as he lived.
Call it intuition. Call it whatever you like, but the way Josephine held her breath and looked back at him over her shoulder, like she sensed some kind of radical shift in the atmosphere, was nothing short of life changing. She looked him right in the eye and whimpered as he pushed in every inch, deeper, deeper, until she was closed-mouth screaming.
An image of her walking down the aisle short-circuited his brain.
Made his pulse zigzag through his veins.
What the hell?
“Tell me,” Wells demanded raggedly.
“You earned me,” she murmured, squeezing him. “Have me however you want me.”
Wells didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He bent her over and banged her motherfucking brains out. What else was he supposed to do when her pussy felt like tight silk and she’d given him permission to come inside her? When she was using her leverage from the lockers to push back and meet his pumps, letting out horny little sobs of his name, her fingers busy playing with her clit? He couldn’t have gone slow to save the world.
Have me however you want me.
“I want you everywhere. All the time,” he rasped, breathing shallow, his hips slapping up against her incredible ass, watching it shake with a raw possessiveness that shocked him as much as it felt completely normal when it came to her. Only her. “Over and over and fucking over again, Josephine. I’ll earn this hot pussy every single time, if I have to.”
“You don’t,” she whispered.
And he wanted to hear her say that, watch her mouth form the words, so he wrapped her hair in a fist, drew her upright, and flattened the front of her body against the lockers. “Josephine?”
She turned her head, their mouths coming together like magnets. “Like you said, we’re more than a sport. Some incentive.” Heavy-lidded eyes searched his face. “Aren’t we?”
“Yes,” he exhaled, winded. From exertion. What was happening to him?
His emotions were cymbals crashing in his head and rib cage. He couldn’t make sense of them now. Just knew this woman was his only method of breathing. He needed air. And he could get the most oxygen from her pleasure, so he knocked her fingers out of the way and stroked her clit with his own fingers. Middle and ring. Circling and playing in the wetness of her cunt, the place where they joined, that button that made her thighs dance anxiously.