Scoring the Player's Baby

by Naima Simone

  God, where to start? He was a buffet of maleness stretched out before her, and she didn’t know where to begin. The anxiety returned full force as she gripped the bottom of his T-shirt. A part of her wanted to gorge herself—to feast and feast and not stop until she had that over-full sensation and couldn’t move. But a more cautious side had her hold on the white cotton tightening. Hesitating. Asking nagging questions that sent shards of doubt zig-zagging through her confidence.

  “Don’t get shy on me now, hala.” A playful smile flirted with his lips, and even through the uncertainty, she had the urge to return it. His fingers squeezed her. “Go on and get yourself a peek. Not to brag, but I have the body of a Kryptonian god.”

  She snorted but, unable to resist his humor or his invitation, inched his shirt up his ripped ladder of abs, his tightly toned chest, revealing the flat, dark brown discs of his nipples. Her lungs seized for a moment, desire so hard, so ravenous inside her, she froze. He was…gorgeous. Primal. An animal of such strength and beauty. He’d called himself a god, and though he joked, he wasn’t far off. He deserved to be admired. Worshiped.

  “Here you go.” He took the shirt out of her grasp and, reaching behind him, grabbed a fistful of material and jerked the T-shirt off. Grasping her wrists in a gentle hold, he placed her hands on him. “What I tell you?” he teased again, flexing his pecs under her palms. “Kneel before Zod, woman.”

  Kneel. Dark, erotic images flashed in front of her eyes. Of her slowly sinking to the floor before him. Of unbuttoning his jeans and reaching inside to cup firm, hot, throbbing flesh. Of her tongue licking a path up the thick column of his cock. A pang of pure hunger curled in her belly, twisted its way down to pulse between her legs.

  She wanted that. Bad.

  Need spurred her on. She stroked her hands over his chest, savoring the taut flesh and the zero give. More tattoos covered his body. A palette of black geometrical patterns painted his right shoulder, upper arm, and right pec—triangles, stark obsidian bands, circles, and stylized images of waves and a turtle that inked the skin over his heart. Gorgeous. With no sign of the indecision that had inhibited her seconds earlier, she swapped her fingers with her mouth, gliding her lips over ink, skin, and muscle.

  A low rumble vibrated against her as she raked her teeth over his nipple, pausing to lick and suck on the small but hard peak. One of those big hands slid up her spine, along the nape of her neck, and tunneled into her hair. Blunt fingertips pressed against her scalp, holding her to him. Encouraging her to keep tasting him. And when she gently bit the hard tip, that rumble transformed into a growl that caressed her own nipples. Unable to resist, she rubbed her chest against him, attempting to assuage the ache. But it had just the opposite effect. Heat sizzled through her, a wild current of electricity that ratcheted the greed inside her from hunger to “satisfy me now.”

  With one last lick to his taut flesh, she trailed a slow, wet path down the shallow furrow that bisected his pecs and abs. She lingered over his stomach, granting each rung of etched muscle the attention and devotion it deserved. Her fingers followed suit, tracing each indentation. But in seconds, she dipped lower, bending her knees to trace the silken, single line of dark hair that mapped a route to the frayed band of his jeans. With an impatience that hummed inside her like a tuning fork, she pinched the button, pushing the metal through the hole, and licking the small patch of skin she revealed.

  “Fuck.” The curse exploded from him, and both of his hands jammed into her hair, cradling her head and tipping it back. His grip halted her downward progress. He searched her face, a frown creasing his brow. “I was only kidding about the kneeling part. You don’t have to—”

  “I know I don’t have to,” she murmured, tugging down his zipper and spreading the denim flaps apart. “I want to.”

  Her knees hit the floor, and she jerked on his jeans, yanking them down several inches until the denim hung on his hips. Another curse seared the air above her. She swept a kiss over the slightly paler skin above the black band of his boxer briefs, and his stomach went concave. Pinpricks of delicious sensation that danced on the edge between pain and pleasure sprinkled across her scalp as his fingers further twisted in her hair. His scent—that rain and earth musk—snagged her, and with a moan, she buried her nose in the cotton-covered V where hip melded into thigh.

  Anticipation rode her, hard. She briefly considered dragging out the teasing, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She wanted, craved, to finally be holding his cock, squeezing it. Tasting it. Damn, did she want a taste.

  Some women abhorred oral sex; she wasn’t one of them. She loved the stretch of a man in her mouth, so similar to when he pushed inside her body. Loved taking him into her, filling her. Yes, she enjoyed the intimacy of it, the naughtiness of it…the power and control of it. She’d missed it along with sex. Missed this vulnerability, this give and take. This erotic thrill.

  To have this connection once again with Ronin had her trembling even as she slipped inside his underwear and fisted his rock-hard, hot flesh.

  The rush of air bursting from her lungs blended with his rough, jagged groan. His hips punched forward, thrusting his dick into her grip. Desperate to see what she’d been fantasizing about since he’d pressed it against her at the convention center, she withdrew his erection.

  Oh. He was beautiful.

  Odd to think of a cock as beautiful, but with this man? Maybe not so strange. Everything about him seemed carved out of sheer perfection. Including the big, smooth, flared tip that glistened with the barest glint of pre-cum, and the thick, long column that pounded with life in her hand. Even the veins that branched out along the silk-over-steel length seemed to entice her, issued an invitation to trace and explore.

  And like the rest of him, he was big.

  Her core clenched, fluttered, whether in hungry eagerness or anxiety—maybe both.

  She pumped her fist down to the wide base, the coarse, springy hair surrounding it grazing the side of her palm. Stroking back up, she tightened her hold, twisting her grip over the head. Another one of those harsh sounds of pleasure was her reward. By the end of the night, she wanted to collect them like blue ribbons.

  Leaning forward, she surrendered to every dirty image in her head and dragged her tongue from base to tip, pausing at the little dip just under the hood to prod and lick. Then she repeated the caress again. Once more. And then again. For a moment, she got caught up, lost in the flavor of him, the strength of him.

  “Don’t tease, hala,” he warned, and the dark edge of it sent shivers tripping head over tail down her spine. “You got me all worked up; now do something about it.”

  Acquiescing, because she wanted it as bad as he apparently did, she parted her lips and took him. Deep. To the back of her throat. She swallowed.

  “Fuck,” he snapped, his hands dropping to her jaw, cradling it, the gentle touch belying the fierceness in his lust-battered voice. “Goddamn.”

  The curses tumbling from him stroked her flesh, enflaming her. Knowing she’d reduced him to the crude, brutal words empowered her. Drawing back, she slid her tongue along the underside of his cock, circling the fleshy head and sucking it like the tip was the most delicious lollipop ever created. Slowly, she sank down on him again, not stopping until his flesh nudged the opening to her throat again. What she couldn’t fit into her mouth, she stroked, her fist bumping her lips. She held him there, before pulling back, continuing to stroke him, unable to satisfy her hunger for his particular flavor.

  “Enough.” The order came seconds before his hands dropped away from her face and tucked under her arms, jerking her to her feet.

  “Hey,” she protested past the drumbeat of lust pounding in her sex. “I wasn’t fin—Oof.”

  Her stomach connected with hard muscle as he tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Never a fan of heights, she grabbed at his back, trying to find purchase to keep from falling to the floor that suddenly seemed so far away.

  “Oh, hala, be
st believe we’re nowhere near finished.” One of those big hands of his skimmed up the back of her thigh and over her ass, cupping and molding a cheek.

  Blood streamed to her face, and not because she hung upside down. The confident, raw, possessive way he touched her… She closed her eyes, fought not to writhe against him so she could add pressure to her pulsing clit. But maybe he possessed mind-reading capabilities because a finger slid between her clenched thighs, sought and easily found the top of her sex over her pajama pants. A blunt fingertip rubbed over where she needed it most, and she cried out, her nails digging into his taut skin.

  Seconds later, they entered the darkened bedroom, and she could barely breathe. Not with his knowledgeable, firm touch reducing her to a squirming fish caught on a sensual hook. An effortless shift and sexy-as-hell show of strength, and her spine met the mattress. He hadn’t catapulted her to the bed in a caveman move as she’d expected. Instead, he’d laid her down with a tenderness that had her heart pumping and head swimming, and he immediately followed, his giant body completely covering her. His weight should’ve smothered her, made her feel trapped, claustrophobic. Should’ve. But no, she had no desire to push him off or wiggle out from under him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his hair. Circled his waist with her legs, aligning his cock along her sex.

  She sucked in a gulp of air, arching tight, her breasts pressing into his chest, her hips punching up to grind against the long, impossibly thick column. Heat sizzled and snapped from her core to all points north, south, east, and west. He’d turned her into a fucking sex compass. With another twist of her hips, she rolled her folds over his jeans-covered cock. Damn. She’d just had him in her mouth, stretching her, filling her, but somehow, he seemed bigger. Probably because her flesh spasmed and quivered with the realization that wide length would be penetrating it soon. Not soon enough.

  “Kiss me,” she demanded, not recognizing this woman who delivered commands with sexual authority. A woman who didn’t wait for him to comply but tightened her grip on his hair and tugged him down to give her what she wanted.

  He didn’t seem to mind. From the growl that rumbled up his chest and throat, and the hungry way he captured her mouth, he might’ve appreciated it—enjoyed it. He thrust between her lips, sweeping inside and tangling her tongue with his, the erotic duel one that had no losers.

  “My turn.” His dark warning liquified her, all her bones melting, and every ounce of warmth converging between her legs. She didn’t need to slip her fingers under her pajama bottoms and underwear to feel how wet she was; she’d been in this state ever since she’d received the “Be there in twenty” text.

  Ronin sat up, his tree-trunk thighs braced on either side of hers. His hair, long and tangled, framed his face as he bowed his head, all his concentration fixed on the hands clutching the bottom of her tank top. He inched the shirt up her torso, not pausing until the material bunched above her lace-covered breasts.

  “I knew you were perfect,” he said, cradling her flesh for a long moment then lowering his head to suck a nipple through her bra.

  She whimpered, clutching his head to her. He worked her with his tongue and teeth, not granting her any mercy. Not that she wanted any. Even though it’d been so long since she’d been touched by a man, and the tumult of sensations bordered on sensory overload, she wanted—needed him—to hold nothing back. This was her night to take and be taken.

  Snagging the cup covering her other breast, he tugged it down and switched to the neglected mound. He nuzzled her, lapped and nibbled on her flesh before drawing so hard on her, a corresponding twinge pinged in her sex. With a soft cry, she pushed herself into his mouth, offering everything to him. And he greedily accepted.

  “So goddamn beautiful,” he murmured, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss to her beaded nipple before skating his lips down the middle of her body. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pants and dragged them and her panties down her legs. In seconds, he had the clothes off, and she lay before him naked except for her bunched-up tank and yanked-down bra.

  Maybe she should’ve felt exposed, vulnerable. But not even when he leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp did she have the urge to cover, to hide herself. Not when he stared down at her with a dark hunger that enflamed her like a human torch.

  He swept his hands up her calves, over her knees, and cupped the back of her thighs. With a nudge, he parted her legs, pressed them wider apart…and lodged his massive shoulders underneath them, placing his face directly above her sex.

  “Oh God,” she moaned, knowing what was coming. Wondering if she would survive it.

  “At this point, I should say something pretty, like how lovely and soft you are,” he murmured, trailing a fingertip down her slit, the puff of his breath teasing her clit. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, trapping the humiliatingly starved cry that would’ve surely escaped. “All true, by the way, but what I’m really thinking is how sweet and wet this pussy looks, and I’m a thirsty man.” He replaced his finger with the tip of his tongue, and she damn near vaulted off the bed. “Oh fuck yeah.”

  He gorged on her. There was no other word for it. It wasn’t neat. Wasn’t tender. Wasn’t soft or patient. No, his mouth was everything wild, demanding, and greedy. His hum of pleasure vibrated against her flesh as that wicked, clever tongue swept through her folds, curled around her clit, and sucked with an insistence that had her crawling closer and closer to a fall that would break her into hundreds of pieces. One large arm spanned her waist, holding her down while his free hand pushed on a thigh, completely opening her up to him. He lowered his head, teasing her entrance, dipping inside and leaving her grasping and empty.

  “Please,” she panted and begged, clutching his hair, twisting it, aware she might be hurting him with her hard tugging, but unable to help herself. Not when he was the only anchor as she writhed against his mouth, riding it, racing for release. “Please, Ronin, let me…”

  “You don’t ever have to beg, hala.” He slicked a path back up through her sex and delivered light, torturous licks to her clit. “Just take it.”

  That was his only warning before he thrust a finger inside her, filling her, rubbing against a place she didn’t even always reach with her best vibrator. The breath blasted from her lungs, and she curled in on herself, whether to protect herself from the imminent explosion or to hoard it, she didn’t know. She couldn’t think, could only feel. He’d reduced her to a creature of lust, and as he worked another finger into her, she crumbled beneath the pleasure like dust.

  Gasping, she shook, quaked, and he didn’t let up until every last tremor ebbed, leaving her a trembling, decimated mess. Only when she emitted a weak groan and pushed at his head did he grant her mercy. A mercy she’d believed she’d earned and wanted until he pushed off the bed and stripped free of his clothes.

  Holy hell.

  Renewed desire scorched a path through her, razing every thought but him to the ground. Jesus Christ. Miles and miles of beautiful olive skin stretched over muscles and tendons that could’ve been etched and chiseled with an artist’s hammer and loving eye. She’d already seen and caressed his chest and cock separately, but paired with lean hips and those solid, powerful thighs, he was…perfection. A masterpiece of flesh, ink, and pure, undiluted sex.

  Screw mercy. She didn’t want it. She needed him to pound her, break her, shatter her with all the pleasure his body promised, granting her no quarter or reprieve.

  With quick, economical movements, he removed a condom from his wallet and ripped the foil packet open with his teeth. That shouldn’t have sent a shiver dancing through her, but damn if it didn’t. Seconds later, he rolled the protection down the thick, ridged column, and climbed back on the bed, stalking her on his hands and knees like some great, hungry beast.

  She widened her thighs in response, ready to cradle him between them. But he didn’t blanket her in his heat and weight. In a graceful twist, he fell on his back, his d
ick an erect, wicked invitation.

  “C’mere and get me,” he rumbled, repeating his earlier dare. The corner of his mouth lifted in a teasing half smile, but his eyes remained dark with the same lust that incinerated her.

  At first, she didn’t move, frozen by indecision and a sudden blast of insecurity. This had never been her favorite position, as being on display had always made her self-conscious. But that’s what tonight was about, she reminded herself. Doing what she’d been too intimidated to do before. Taking what she desired. That included control. And Ronin.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she straddled his heavy thighs, the width of them causing a stretch between hers. She couldn’t prevent the moan from escaping. One benefit of being perched on top of him was the view.

  His hair tangled around his face and tatted shoulders. Sliding her hands up his corrugated abs and strong chest, she hummed, the furnace that seemed to burn beneath his skin warming her palms. She could touch him all night…

  “Don’t make me wait, hala.” He gripped her waist, squeezed, then slid his hands down to cup her ass. Squeezed again. “I’ve been waiting to be balls deep inside you since I first put eyes on you. Put me out of my misery.”

  His words, with that hard edge of need and desperation, ratcheted her desire higher. Heart pounding, she rose up on her knees, fisted the base of his cock, and slowly—oh so slowly—sank down on him.

  Shock, pleasure, pain whipped through her like a fierce, freezing wind. Oh fuck. Sucking in a breath through paralyzed lungs, she curled her fingers against his abdomen, closing her eyes and absorbing the enormous pressure and sting of being penetrated and filled by Ronin. For a moment, the discomfort outdistanced the pleasure of finally, finally having him inside her.