by Warren, Rie
She didn’t say a word, slithering on top of me. Grabbing a condom, she bit it open between her teeth then licked her lush lips. She shook her hair back—red strands highlighted by moonlight—sliding along my cock, naked, sexy, and not one bit self-conscious.
“You gonna fuck me, babe?” I asked, grabbing the head of the bed between my two fists when she rolled the rubber all the long fucking way down my throbbing cock.
“Looks like it.” Lifting up, she notched me against her cunt.
My dick parted those hot little lips, and she immediately swallowed me inside.
“I want . . .” My voice almost gone, I gruffly voiced, “Pey . . .”
“Don’t. Not right now.” She rounded her hips.
She rose up, slammed down, undulated on top of me with her hands against my chest.
Ended my brain.
Fucked my head.
Fucked my cock.
Unable to stop, unwilling to end this thing, I wrapped my hands around her waist. She weighed nothing at all.
But she was everything to me.
Always had been.
“When then?” I asked, my teeth gritted, my cock buried, my hands holding her planted with my dick womb-deep.
“What about”—Peyton arched, all that pure white skin—“what now?”
My teeth gnashed together and my body stretched like a tightrope. My cock nearly bursting. She shuddered all over, clenching me inside, savagely yelling my name from the depths of her throat.
Panting, she draped over me while I almost blacked out from the most intense pleasure. I came until my eyes crossed, my toes crossed, my balls almost crawled into my body.
My ragged inhales slowed. Slowly. I curled Pey against me. We were both steamy, a little sweaty, definitely sex-messy. I wanted to shower with her.
Be with her.
Clean her up.
She’d always been the one for me.
Worn out from the long day and the hot sex, sleep overtook me, but I made sure she was spooned against me before my eyes coasted shut.
I woke suddenly sometime later and rose to my elbow. The bed was empty, and I checked my phone. Midnight. My shower was running.
Peyton.
Maybe I’d dreamed it but I remembered her hand on the side of my face, her lips brushing mine, her voice, whispering, “You were always my one.”
I threw my forearm over my eyes.
Of all the mistakes I’d ever made, losing sight of her had been the biggest one.
I’d forfeited love.
Lost the game.
Given up the girl.
By the time Pey exited the bathroom, I’d pulled on my jeans, rubbed my hands through my hair.
“You gotta go?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Sorry.” She avoided my gaze, smelling of my soap and shampoo, sliding her feet into her sandals.
“It’s late.” I stood up, handing her the bag with her bathing suit and towel.
And our fingers twined together.
“I’ll be fine, Rafe.”
“Are you sure?” With a knuckle beneath her chin, I brought her lips to mine.
Just a taste.
Just a brush.
“I have to go.”
Outside, with the white shells crunching beneath my feet, I helped her into her car.
Waited for her to start the engine.
Rapped on her window.
When she rolled it down, I touched her chin, her cheek.
She captured my palm against her face then brought it to her lips for a sleek whisper of a kiss. And her eyelashes floated down.
I backed off, folding my arms across my chest. “I’ll see you again?”
“Pretty sure you’ll see me at training tomorrow.”
“Not what I meant.”
Seventeen
So Not a Booty Call
Peyton
“FAVOR TO ASK.” BRIGHT August sunshine flooded my office as I sat chatting on my phone to Phil.
“Ooooh really?” Her tone switched from vague interest to gimme-the-dirt greedy. “Want me to set you up with some double dick action?”
“Where are you gonna find me dick?” Little did she know I’d been getting plenty of cock, Rafe’s hard, thick, long dick in fact.
He and I continued to play it cool around the team, and I kept my private life closed off from him. But every chance we got, we went at it. He was addictive, attentive, delicious, and so strong he could throw me up against a wall and almost fuck me right through it.
I was glad I wasn’t on FaceTime with Phil as I raised a hand to fan myself.
“If I was into that sort of thing—”
“Peeeenis,” I interjected.
“Cannot even believe you said that to me. Don’t make me pull out the V-word.”
While I shuddered, she continued, “I could get you two in the hand and one in the mouth.”
“Not into orgies. And isn’t that some sort of parable or limerick or something? Two in the hand—”
“One in the mouth?” She cackled. “Don’t think so. What kind of books do you read to Cal anyway?”
“Sometimes he doesn’t even want me to anymore.” I sighed, kicking my feet up on my desk. “But back to the point. Could you take Callum for the night?”
It was never too hard to convince Auntie Phil—she was more than happy being Callum’s unofficial guardian—but of course that didn’t mean she wouldn’t get all up in my business digging for that dirt.
“Booty call, is it then? Finally gettin’ laid on the down-low?”
“No.” I flushed, outright lying to her. “The season’s starting soon, and I need to get my shit in order.”
Her long disappointed moan reached across the phone line. “See now? I was really hoping you were gonna say booty call.”
Rafe no longer fit into the booty call category. Our dates consisted of grabbing a quick bite to eat off-campus in between training. Getting to know one another in a way we hadn’t before. Learning each other’s likes and dislikes. Rafe had pop music channels dialed into the radio of his Scout, but he claimed that was all down to Liv. He worried he’d fuck up his arm or his aim every single game, and the next season—the need to come out strong and winning—weighed even more heavily on his mind than mine.
Also, he liked long wet blowjobs.
And I liked giving him head.
Win-win.
I figured out he wasn’t a dumb jock, but I’d known that for a long time already. He was the beating heart of Carolina Crush—and quickly invading my heart, too.
He also couldn’t wait to spread my legs to get his mouth on me, his cock in me, either.
I didn’t complain.
Win, win.
Yeah, we kept this “relationship” mostly away from work. Except the silly gifts left in unexpected places around the compound continued—I did my part as super sexy secret not-Santa. Remembering the Rafe Macintyre Funko football figure he’d given me, I had to make do with a Justin Bieber Bobblehead in return, you know, for his pop song addiction.
I knew he’d found the plastic figurine hidden in the deepest recesses of his locker the moment he scowled at me from across the parking lot later that day at quitting time.
He’d texted me:
Not funny
I countered:
Just a little bit?
He’d answered:
Come to dinner with me and we can discuss.
The discussion never happened, neither did dinner. A whole lot of hot sex sure had, though—as much as we could fit in within a two-hour time frame before I had to jet home.
The day I’d stashed a sexy black mesh jockstrap in his locker, my pulse fluttered between my legs. Just reaching into his cubby, I sensed everything about the man. His sweat. His body. His muscles. His sheer dedication and total determination to win.
And by Jesus, he was winning with me.
When I’d stepped onto the training grounds later, Rafe caught immediate sight of me.
A line of sweat drilled down the center of his jersey. His jaw flexed. His vivid green eyes flashed to mine. And the red flooding his cheeks beneath his deep tan wasn’t due to exertion.
After his workout, his PT, his shower, and what was probably a lot of bullshit macho baller-talk in the locker room, he knocked softly on my office door.
Slipping inside, he slid the lock home. Then he’d locked target on me.
Hiking up my skirt, growling in my ear, ripping off my panties, he’d sat me on my desk.
He’d stood between my spread thighs, shedding his jeans to reveal the tight see-through mesh cupping a cock that stretched the webbing until threads threatened to break.
“This what you wanted, Pey?”
My hand went to him. My tongue wet my lips. Speechless, I’d nodded my head. Bobblehead.
Yes, please.
He’d taken me then and there. On top of the desk with papers scattering. My MacBook almost shuttled off the edge. The jockstrap hauled down, his hips punched forward, I’d scrabbled to hold onto his shoulders, his ass, the lip of the desk as he tore into me with teeth-chattering, body-melting, pussy-convulsing force.
I’d come twice before Rafe let it all go.
God, he was magnificent—all strained muscles, tight craven face, corded neck, rough hands wrapped around my hips as he pulsed inside me over and over again.
His long mighty groan the last noise before he thrust a few more slow wet times.
His head fell to my breasts. “You naughty woman,” he whistled out between shallow breaths.
I’d folded my fingers through his hair, tugging him up. “It’s all your fault.”
“God, I hope so.” He snuck his thumb between my lips. “I hope you’re not like this with any other man, darlin’.”
That was right.
We hadn’t had the talk. The exclusive no-screwing-around-with-anyone-else conversation.
And that wasn’t the only serious discussion missing from our relationship.
What wasn’t win-win about Rafe and me? I was torn in two. I’d done something wrong and hadn’t told him yet.
And there was still one big black gap neither of us mentioned.
This thing between us was as complicated as I’d always thought it would be with all the secrets too close to surfacing. But it was just so damn easy to be with Rafe while everything was new and exciting, fresh and thrilling.
Unfortunately, guilt and shame were close seconds to the burgeoning feels I was starting to have for Rafe Macintyre.
* * *
Deeply resolved, I wanted one more time with him. An entire night so I could wake up in the morning next to him—just once—before it all came crashing down.
This house of cards. This life of lies. This thing that was never meant to be.
Despite hounding me until I wanted to throttle her, Philomena took Callum overnight as I’d known she would. She was always excited to get some one-on-one time with my precocious kid.
She’d probably cart him to the jump castle arena, feed him up on junk food, and throw sleeping bags on her living room floor to fall asleep to G-rated kid’s movies instead of her usual X-rated fare.
That night, Rafe and I blasted through the front door of my house, one of my hands tangled in his hair, the other already working to open the tab of his pants. It was his first time at my place and likely to be the last, but before I could contemplate the full implications of telling him the truth, I was swept away in the compulsive desire to have him.
He slammed me against the wall, groaning when I cupped his cock in my palm.
His head slanted, his mouth angled against mine, capturing every one of my moans when he tossed off my silky top to twist his fingers around my tightened nipples.
“No bra?” he asked, breathless, and his cock dripped a dollop of pre-ejaculate I caught with my thumb.
His lips wet a sizzling hot path down my neck, along my collarbone, to my breasts.
“You get me too excited. I didn’t want to wait.” I stopped stroking him.
I couldn’t concentrate on the hard, meaty rod in my hand, not when he roughly licked one nipple before pushing both my breasts together.
He lifted his head, the pirate smile prodding deep, delicious dimples in his cheeks.
All-American Boy he was not. He was nasty, wicked, so very hot.
Beneath my skirt, his fingertip worked slippery circles over my thong, around my clit, then prodded beneath to dip into the well of my sex.
“So excited your nips been hard all night?” He nuzzled my breasts, and drove that single finger harder inside me. “Wet panties, darlin’?”
He drew his finger out. My hips chased his touch.
He pulled the thong off and lifted it between us while I panted, held up with my shoulders braced against the wall and my hand inside his pants, against the single longest hardest sexiest cock I’d ever had.
“You’ve been ready for me,” he stated in a gritty tone, tossing the thong away.
I nodded.
“You’re not usually this quiet.” He flipped up my skirt, pressing me harder against the wall.
Sailing kisses down my tummy, he nudged my thighs farther apart, but I needed us to be completely naked together. I jerked him up with a rough tug on his hair, listening to his harsh grunt.
With him in front of me, his features almost feral with lust, I tore at his clothes. My fingers wrapped around the thickness of his cock, and he sucked in a short breath. I could never get enough of his sculpted naked body. His firm ass. The sexy tat of the panther on his back.
The way he looked at me like he wanted to own me—dominate my body. That look, now, with his green eyes close to black as he unhooked my skirt so it shimmied down my legs. As he touched my shoulders then my chin before he drew my lips to his. And when his tongue caressed mine, I cried out into the pleasure.
Sensation exploded around me—this man, his muscles, the music of his grunts, and the exquisitely honed flesh beneath my hands.
A tantalizing feast of warm skin, hard muscle, and rough hair.
I only escaped the agonizing eroticism of his touch and his kiss to lead him to my bedroom. As I started up the stairs, he watched me from the bottom. A wild thrill shot through me as I imagined what he saw that made him swear in his rough-toned voice. Another step up, and I shook my hips. I looked over my shoulder, my hair swinging.
He gripped the banister with a white-knuckled fist, the corner of his jaw tensed.
Then I smiled and slowly compelled him upstairs with every teasing roll of my hips.
I’d almost made it to my bedroom when he pushed me against the wall on the first landing. “What the hell’s gotten into you, Pey?”
Coursing my tongue down his neck, I slid one hand around his lean waist onto his ass to squeeze the taut muscle.
His Adams apple bobbed against my mouth, and his palm skimmed down my tummy.
“You’re too hot tonight.” His fingers brushed my mound.
“Can’t handle me?”
“Gonna make you come so fucking hard it’ll hurt.” His hard, hot sneer was almost as hard and hot as his cock.
Inside the bedroom, I pushed him onto my bed.
Pillows bounced off. The covers bunched up. And Rafe reclined with his big thighs spread.
He notched his chin at me, inviting me for the ride I was about to take.
“My turn.” I crawled over him, my breasts against his chest, my pussy saddling the solid roll of his dick.
“Fuck, Pey.”
Biting and licking his neck, I reached for a condom and tore it open. He swallowed audibly, his hands caressing up my hips to hold my breasts, to twist and tease my nipples. A second later, I stroked him upright before slowly rolling the condom down his length between two fingers.
“Fuuuuck, Peyton.” He pulled in a sharp breath as my palm lightly brushed the heat of his heavy balls.
Rubbing him against my clit, I almost blacked out with the intense pleasure of slippery contact.<
br />
His chest flexed. His body twisted. His lips parted.
His hands fell to my ass.
The moment I took him inside of me I came. The clenching welcome—my ember of orgasm—sucked him ever deeper.
I couldn’t even . . .
Eighteen
The Way We Fall
Peyton
MY BACK ARCHED, MY fingers on his chest clenched, swallowing him inside me—so big.
Rafe gave a thick gasp, his head cranked back, his eyes shut, his cheeks hollow with pleasure.
I knew I was creaming all over him, hot and full because he’d gotten deeper into me. My hips circled. My eyes rolled.
Wet. So, so wet with him inside me.
Rafe opened his eyes. “You’re frothing, girl.”
I whimpered when he sat half up, and, bending his legs, he cradled me against his brawny thighs. He fucked up into me, and I rode every thrust, every compelling grind, keening when I came again.
Hauling me down, Rafe locked his legs around mine and lunged up. Fucked hard.
He destroyed my sanity, overwhelmed my senses. He flooded my body with soul-searing arousal. Made me orgasm. Made me yell. Made me hang on.
He made me watch with my eyes wide open as his green irises went glassy and he held me with two hands cupping my ass. I sank down when he bucked up, taking him all the way inside. I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing his parted lips and listening to his deep groans.
I moaned with every rocking motion that pulled us together, connected our bodies, finally pulsed throughout us until there was nothing but him and the blinding swell of ecstasy radiating outward.
Minutes later, I lay half over him, my face tipped against his neck, my fingers idly toying with the hair on his chest, my heart still fiercely pounding.
“So, you finally brought me home.” Rafe lazily twined a lock of my hair around his finger.
I had. I’d brought him home. The first man. The only man.
Knowing it wouldn’t last, I shivered against him.
“Hey. You cold?” He pressed his lips to the top of my head.