“There it is, baby, let it happen. Right there on my cock this time.”
“Oh my God, please God.”
“Yes? I’m listening.”
“Wells.”
He drove upward, bringing her tiptoes off the ground, his fingers strumming her clit in a blur. “God? Wells? Somebody is giving it to you good, Josephine, because you’re wet as fuck.”
She slapped the locker with both hands, struggling to get her feet on the ground for leverage, but he wouldn’t let her, instinct telling him she’d come harder if she didn’t have that piece of control, and he was right. Her muscles locked up, fingers curling into fists, and she convulsed around him so tightly, he had to bite her shoulder to keep from shouting the ceiling down.
Mother Mary.
It cost him an ocean’s worth of self-control to thrust deep and hold, letting her grind on his dick and draw out the pleasure, before he started pumping again.
“The things I’ll do to keep you coming back,” he growled into her neck. “Anything. God help me, I’ll do anything for more of this.”
She turned her mouth to meet his in a breathless kiss, her right hand leaving the locker, fingers spearing into the hair at the back of his scalp. Holding firmly while they devoured each other’s mouths. “Let me see you,” she whispered. “When you finish.”
He didn’t even know which part of his body was storing his heart right now. His stomach or his mouth. “That’s going to make you want more?”
“I . . . think . . . m-maybe feeling close to you would—”
Quickly, in the name of self-preservation, Wells cut Josephine off with his mouth, because if she kept talking like that, he was going to start making a lot of premature vows. I’ll never kiss anyone else. I’ll never touch anyone else. Or asking her to come to Miami tomorrow morning, instead of going home during the break between tournaments. So he could see what she looked like in his bathtub and take her for long walks on the beach during sunset.
Am I romantic now?
When did that happen?
Wells didn’t have a single clue. But if she wanted to look at him while he busted, it was the very least he could do.
Or so he thought. It was a lot more difficult than he imagined, in the sense that he could barely breathe in the face of so much intimacy.
She touched the tips of their tongues together and flexed her cunt—and he started naming saints. He wasn’t even Catholic. Didn’t realize he knew any of the saints, either. But he was obviously having some kind of religious experience, because the more she worked those muscles around his shaft, the more brilliant light flared at the edges of his vision, his body surging forward of its own volition, crushing her against the lockers. Hard. Thrusting. Thrusting.
“Oh Jesus. Sorry, baby. Sorry,” he ground out, the slap of flesh, her halting breaths, the firmness of her ass against his stomach, it all blew him into oblivion, but her turning to lock their gazes together while it happened was like having his soul ripped clean out. Everything was green, like her eyes.
His entire universe.
His entire existence came down to her. Little gold flecks and the scent of flowers and her unruly auburn hair.
The dramatic release of tension happened in his lower body, but higher, too. In his chest. He was releasing himself to her. Just handing everything inside him over, and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stem the desperation to bond with Josephine permanently, and that need took the form of rutting her up against the locker, her knees crashing into the metal, his own fist pounding it out of pure savage ownership.
Not only that, he was being owned.
Such a simple request. To look at her when he came.
But it was easily the most intimate leap he’d ever taken in his life.
Then she smiled at him toward the end and everything just kind of exploded into place.
The final scrape of sexual frustration left him, for now, exiting on a tide of raw, unparalleled relief, filling her body, her body that received him so perfectly, stroking him with fine muscles and sleek flesh, squeezing to a tempo only they could hear. His spend slowly dripped back out, coating their joined flesh while he groaned, working into her even as his erection subsided, because he simply couldn’t stop, couldn’t quit trying to get as close as possible.
Nothing had ever felt better than this woman. Ever.
“What are you doing between now and the next tournament?” he asked into her neck, voice uneven. “Come to Miami. I have a bathtub.”
Color deepened on her cheeks. Wells just stared at the increase of pink in a total stupor. Like, how had he been living his life without realizing an angel was existing right under his nose?