by Max Monroe
I watched as she pulled the biggest one out of the hole and then ran my mouth, unable to resist.
“Size matters to you, huh?”
Jesus, Sean, I mentally chastised. One step forward and twenty steps back. No wonder most women thought men were idiots. Most of the time, we fucking were.
Her voice was sweet, but her words were teasingly lethal. “Got to find it somewhere when it’s lacking everywhere else.”
Teeny’s laugh was infectious—to everyone but me. I was busy picking my balls up from the ground where she’d left them.
“Whoa. Savage, little Six,” Sam commented playfully as he took a swig of his beer.
Cam elbowed me. “Good thing we know she’s not talking about us, huh?”
“Yeah,” I forced out. “Good thing.”
Good thing I had the rest of the evening to figure out a way to prove her wrong.
An hour and a half, two turns, and three beers later, I’d reached the edge of my limit.
Six was going again, adjusting her hips at the direction of Quinn for a better position with the club and wiggling her ass to settle into her feet.
She grasped at the grip, and my cock jerked in my pants.
I needed her hands on me, rough and unyielding in the way that she’d started to grip the club, and I needed them there soon.
My veins were larger than normal, and blood flow was at a dangerous level. I tried to redirect it from the fast track to my dick, but the more I watched her, the less control I had.
Her hips. Her perfect ass. I wanted it all in my hands as I sucked on her tits and drove her back into the wall with every thrust.
Glassy-eyed and happy, she’d allowed herself a drink or two tonight as well, and I knew better than to take her without permission.
She hit the ball with a laugh, turning and bending over at the waist as it dribbled two feet in front of her. The swing and the hit of the ball were a dud, but her ass was just about all a man could handle.
Jealousy raged and burned as I looked from myself to Cam and Sam to find their eyes on the same thing.
Teeny, bless him, was too busy having a good time to notice how fucking hot she was.
With a careful adjustment in my pants, I rose to my feet and moved to the side of the table where the club holder was, eager for her return. She laughed at something Cat said and danced my way, nearly bumping into me before she even realized I was out of my seat.
She startled, and my jaw flexed with the resistance it took to keep myself from picking her up and fucking her right there on the bay table in front of all of our friends—and everyone else.
Set up like a driving range, but with access to food, drinks, and seating, each group at Topgolf had their own “private bay.” But what they meant by private—open air and right next to another group—and the kind of enclosed area I would need to fuck Six on the table were two different things.
“Come on,” I ordered quietly, turning her away from the table and putting a hand to her back. With gentle pressure, I guided her in the direction of the bathrooms for lack of a better place.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her breaths already coming faster as she pictured exactly what I had been seeing for the last hour.
She was a smart girl. Intuitive, and she could tell by the raging testosterone bleeding out of my skin that she was about to get fucked.
Still, the circumstances were cute and the wording too fun not use as I leaned down to her ear and whispered, “I’m going to show you how skilled I am in wielding a different kind of club.”
She shivered and sped up her steps without prompting.
My heart kicked in my chest, and my cock fought with my pants as we finally pushed through the bathroom door. Thankfully, it was empty, so I kicked the door shut behind us and locked it without pause.
Her breathing was ragged as I pushed her back against the wall without saying anything, but her body was pliant and willing. She was so ready, the swell of her breasts seeming to double in size as she thrust them forward.
Not one to disappoint, I grabbed her shirt at the hem and yanked it up and over her head without finesse. She worked to help me, but once it was over her breasts, I would have left her to do most of the rest on her own whether she’d volunteered or not.
I was too eager, too hungry. And her tits looked too good through the delicate lace of her pink bra.
“God,” I groaned, leaning down to take one perfect nipple into my mouth. Brown and round, they were the perfect quarter-sized tasty treats.
I sucked and nipped, and she keened, getting louder as I went. I tugged down the cups with my teeth when the lace became too much of a barrier, and she reached for the belt on my pants.
Hands filling the role of my mouth, I squeezed the bare flesh at her chest and kissed my way down to her stomach until I got to her jeans. The button gave easily with the force of my teeth, and after a moan, she moved her hands down to shove her jeans from her hips so I could put my mouth directly on wet flesh.
It was everything I wanted it to be and then some, and I sucked and swallowed like a ravenous animal. She crowed wildly, scratching at the material of my shirt and climbing my body to give my mouth better access to her clit.
I licked and sucked and lapped my way through all the juice she had to offer until she finally broke.
“Enough!” she yelled. “I need you inside me. Now, Sean. Right fucking now.”
She nearly growled those last three words, and my dick all but did a fucking cartwheel in excitement.
Hot damn.
The feeling was mutual.
My smile was wicked as I climbed to my feet, undid my pants, and donned a condom, the glow of her arousal coating my mouth in taunt. “I thought you’d never ask, baby.”
“You were waiting for me to ask?” she asked breathlessly, and I laughed.
“Beg, really,” I clarified. “I really wanted you to beg.”
She slapped weakly at my chest, but the feel of my cock sliding inside of her was kind of distracting.
To her, to me—it was a goddamn game changer for both of us.
Pleasure teased and tickled at my spine as I fought the urge to pound relentlessly until I came right from the first heavenly thrust inside. But after the night with her avoiding me, I wanted her to face me. I wanted her to look me in the eye and feel every goddamn stroke. I wanted her to feel us. “Look at me, Six,” I ordered. “Look me in the eye.”
“I am,” she protested, but her focus was scattered. My eyes, my chest, my dick sliding in and out of her as I pushed her harder and deeper into the wall. All of it was fascinating, but I wanted her to see me.
“You’re not. Look at me.”
“Sean,” she breathed, desperate and dying as everything she was afraid of built inside her. She licked her lips and tightened her legs at my hips.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I asked on a growl, frantic and adamant to have her answer. I wanted her to say it. To get it out there in a way she couldn’t take back. “The two of us together. Tell me you’ve never felt anything better.”
She bit her lower lip but stayed silent.
“Tell me,” I ordered again.
She shook her head, and the pleasure rush broke me. I didn’t care if she said it anymore because I’d say it for the both of us. This was special. This was real. This was everything I never knew I goddamn wanted, and I’d wait for her to figure it out.
“Fine. I’ll do the talking. Because I don’t have any trouble saying it, Six. Your pussy is the best thing I’ve ever felt. Wrapped around me, under my hand, on the tip of my tongue. Any way I can get it. I’ll take it and you and everything we’re turning out to be together, and I’ll take it until you won’t give it anymore.”
She came just as I finished the avowal, and I wasn’t far behind.
Caught up in blinding stars and dark shadows, I danced in the space of euphoria and pledged never to come back.
Not from this, not from us—not from any of it.
Six could take her time. I’d do exactly what they taught me in football.
A pick six was an interception you took all the way to the end zone.
And I’d damn well use my training to steal her first, and then take her all the goddamn way until she was mine.
All. Fucking. Mine.
LA traffic was a nightmare, as per usual, and I wasn’t the only one in a rush. Horns honked and people yelled, and giving the finger was practically as normal as using a turn signal.
I’d only been back home for a couple of days since leaving Dallas, and everything about my home city of San Diego had felt entirely more foreign than ever.
The faces weren’t familiar, the sun didn’t warm me as deeply, and the breeze that blew through from the ocean didn’t feel anything but cold.
I knew my stint with the Mavericks was intended to be short-lived from the beginning, but I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that it would all be ending soon.
The time with the guys during shoots, the raucous parties celebrating their victories with them, and perhaps most of all, the pseudo-relationship I’d formed with Sean Phillips.
I pinched at my skin as a force of habit, something I’d been doing over the last several weeks every time I thought of his name and my own in the same vicinity.
We’d been well acquainted with each other in ways I’d never imagined—emotionally, personally, and physically—but he was still a professional football player, and I was just a YouCam video blogger.
More than the whole life on opposite sides of the tracks factor, we’d still yet to say anything about our relationship to anyone. We snuck around and lied and fell into each other in the strangest of locations. Bathrooms and hotel beds and secret guest bedrooms and random closets, it was all the same to us, as long as we found a way inside each other.
My phone buzzed in the vent mount, and despite being behind the wheel, I couldn’t stop myself from looking.
I took solace in the fact that the traffic was stopped at the moment, but I still knew it wasn’t right.
No man’s text was worth my life or the life of someone else behind the wheel, but…Sean.
Giving in to temptation, I touched the phone and lit up the screen to read the message. It was short and sweet, but the context made me smile.
Sean: I just watched an hour of news about a building fire in LA just hoping I’d get to see you drive by. What time is the conference?
I tapped out a quick response, occasionally glancing to find traffic doing absolutely nothing.
Me: In like five minutes, actually. But I’m in bumper-to-bumper traffic trying like hell to get there. I’m hoping being fashionably late qualifies as a topic in fashion.
Sean: Why exactly are you going to a fashion blog conference? You don’t blog about fashion.
Me: I do. Occasionally. Okay…once. But I have a good friend who does. I met her online, but she seems to think it’s worth my time. They do a lot of topics on branding and general audience marketing that’s relevant no matter who my audience is.
Sean: Why don’t they have one of these in New York?
Me: They probably do.
Sean: Okay. Why aren’t you at that one? ☹
Me: Because I live in California.
Sean: Don’t remind me.
Brake lights up ahead faded as the gridlock started to move, so I typed quicker to be ready to roll.
Me: Traffic is moving. I’ll talk to you later, okay?
Sean: I’m pouting.
I rolled my eyes and smiled at the same time.
I wanted to text him back.
I wanted to call him.
Hell, I kind of wanted to skip this conference and head back to New York early.
But rationality, reality, and the now empty space in front of my vehicle demanded my attention.
I clicked off my phone and shifted back into drive.
My little Toyota Camry wasn’t fancy, but it’d never done me any wrong no matter how many times I’d unknowingly tried to sabotage it. I guessed the Japanese could build one hell of an energizer motor.
And, apparently, there’d been something blocking the road because we were sailing now. I used my hand to fan myself, did a quick smell of my pits, and put my foot to the floor. With any input from the Toyota gods, I’d be there in no time.
But even with my eyes focused on the road, I couldn’t deny the urge to text him back was still strong. And more than that, even though I wasn’t able to respond to his last message, my eyes kept glancing toward my stupid phone, hoping for another notification from him.
My heart felt like it was in a vise inside my chest.
And for the rest of my drive to the conference, all my brain fixated on was Sean. Memories of Sean. Fantasies of Sean. His perfect mouth. His laugh. The way his eyes looked when that sexy smile of his consumed his face.
Oh, sweet summer child, I was heading toward dangerous territory when it came to him, and if I weren’t careful, I’d let myself fall straight past the point of no return.
Mary Jane was shaking her head before my ass even hit the chair as I snuck my way into the first seminar. She’d at least saved me a seat, even if it was in the middle of the row.
Doesn’t she know notoriously late-arrivers preferred back row seats?
“Excuse me,” I muttered, tripping over a lady’s bag and landing on another woman’s foot. She shot me a venomous glare, and I shrugged. It’s not like I could take the stumble back.
“Always late and always in trouble,” Mary Jane, or MJ as I called her, remarked softly while looking down at her notebook and taking a quick note about website pixels.
I rolled my eyes and took out an old envelope from my back pocket. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”
MJ stopped writing, turned her head with a swirl and a twist, and I balked. Her eyes looked possessed, and I feared I’d poked the wrong bear.
“I can ask someone else,” I mumbled, but her grumble was louder as she bent down to her purse.
It didn’t take her long to find what she was after—she was a hell of a lot more organized than I was—and hand me a pen.
“Here. Now shut up and listen.”
Somewhat childishly, I had to fight the urge to defy her, just because. I was proud to say I managed it, though.
When the talk finally ended and a round of applause broke out, I took my first full breath.
“Thank God,” I muttered and silently prayed the speaker took the stick she’d had up her ass with her as she left.
MJ laughed. “Why do you come to these things if you hate them?”
“Because you’re always telling me it’s good for business. And I’m nothing if not interested in money. I want to make it. I want to spend it. I want to fucking bathe in it.”
“You’re ridiculous. But I’ll admit it’s good to see you.”
“Obvi,” I remarked. “I’m always a good time.”
Her head’s shake had to be permanent at this point as she led us out of the meeting room and down the hall of the hotel. We were headed for the lobby—and the lobby bar if I was really lucky—and the possibility of any of the above sounded amazing.
I needed a drink, and I needed to dish.
I had to spill to someone about all of the secret things I’d been filming with the Mavericks. It wasn’t a condition of the contract to keep my mouth closed, but it was good practice. I didn’t want to go blabbing to just anyone for fear they’d scoop my goddamn story.
But I trusted MJ. She was a fellow vlogger, a guru of fashion and makeup on the YouCam circuit, and she was a good person to her core. When you told MJ something and asked her to keep it to herself, she locked that shit up and threw away the key.
And, in this industry, that was a fucking rarity.
The vlogging community was notorious for being cutthroat and competitive.
With only bar-height tables available in the crowded lobby space, I hoisted myself up to a seat. Christmas was just around the c
orner, and the room looked like a pack of tiny elves had vomited up holiday cheer.
Lights and trees and tinsel and ornaments galore.
I sighed. “They take our drink orders at the table, right?”
MJ nodded. “Yes, relax. You’ll be able to get drunk with as little effort expended as possible.”
“Oh good,” I breathed. “That’s just how I like it.”
“So what have you been working on lately? I saw a couple of episodes post about the Mavericks.” She whistled. “That’s a big fucking score. Are you planning to do any more with them?”
My mind soared and my mouth curled as I thought about the deal I’d gotten. MJ had actually been the one to encourage me to go after something with them in the first place.
She’d known I was an avid Mavericks fan, and she had just happened to be one of the lucky bitches on the Birmingham to New York flights that brought Quinn Bailey and his lady love Cat together.
“Yes! After you called me a few months ago and told me about all of the stuff that went down on the plane with Cat and Quinn and Sean and the spectacle the whole thing had made, I felt the need to go after it. I basically hounded their director of marketing until she got back to me.”
MJ’s nod was approving. “Good girl. And?”
“And they signed me for eight episodes! I have one more left to film before it’s all over. I can’t believe how fast it all went.”
“They’re having a pretty good season, though. Maybe they’ll sign you for something postseason as a bonus?”
I thought about Wes and how much his head seemed to spin every time I was there. I didn’t do anything, per se, but I had a feeling he’d be happy when I was finally gone.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “The owner seems pretty stressed with me there. I think this is going to be it.”
“Well, that’s a bummer.”
“I know,” I agreed. “But it’s been great. All of the guys have been so much fun.”