by Meghan Quinn
To his shock—and mine—I straddle his lap, his hardened length settling right against my heated center. His hands fall to my thighs as I adjust myself, his thumbs guiding his thickness pressed up against me in just the right spot.
“Fuck, Kate. What are you doing?”
On the verge of tears from how sexually frustrated I am, how annoyed I am with this entire situation, I say just above a whisper, “Just a few seconds. Please, Walker.”
The thick veins in his neck bulge as he sucks in a heavy breath, the same frustrated pain reflected in his eyes that are in mine. His fingers press into my skin and his teeth roll over his bottom lip before he grunts out, “Five seconds.”
I nod. Taking what I can get.
I move my hips so my exposed clit glides ever so softly over his erection. “One,” I breathe out heavily as my hands fall to his chest. “Two,” I continue, pushing forward and then sliding back. “Three,” I moan, my mind starting to turn into a fuzzy mess. “Four.” His fingers tighten even more. “Five,” I say just as I stop my hips and rest there, staring down at him, unable to understand what’s happening.
“Walker . . . I—”
Before I can finish, he flips me to my back and pins my hands above my head. His strong, domineering body hovers above me, and his hips start to pulse against mine. “Five . . . fucking . . . seconds,” he growls out, the only thing between us being his boxer briefs.
But the friction is palpable. I can feel every ridge of his cock glide along my clit as he starts to count.
“One.” He pulses hard. “Two.” His fingers lace with mine. “Three,” he grunts, his hips moving faster, both of our breaths picking up. “Four . . . ahhh, fuck.” His hips speed up, my legs spread farther as the throbbing sensation between my legs spreads throughout my body, puckering my nipples and spreading a wave of goosebumps over my skin. “Five.” He slows down and then flips off me, rolling to the side.
“Fuck,” he shouts.
I glance over at him. His cock is past the waistband of his briefs now, stretching up his stomach, enticing me. God, I want him in my mouth. I want to know what he tastes like, what it would feel like to have him rock his length past my lips. I want to know what sounds he’d make as I sucked him. I want to watch him come undone on my tongue.
My thoughts are overwhelming.
My skin is overheated, itching for more.
And my need takes over as I lower my hand between my legs. My index finger connects with my clit, and I moan as I grow comfortable in my position.
Walker turns toward me, and I catch the questioning look in his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I need relief,” I practically cry. “It’s too much, Walker. It’s all too much.” My other hand climbs up my shirt and I squeeze my breast, causing my hips to lift off the mattress.
He growls next to me, removes my hand from my clit, and stares down at my arousal. I’m so wet, so ready, teetering on the apex of falling over. It won’t take me long, a few strokes.
His fingers move along my inner thigh and I can feel my pulse travel from my heart to my legs. A thud, thud, thud, drowning out any other sound in the room as his fingers inch closer and closer.
I don’t say a word, not wanting to scare him away.
I don’t move, letting my breath be the only thing controlling my body.
And when his thumb connects with my clit, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the frustrated tears away.
“One,” he starts, and I nearly let the tears fall. No . . . not another five seconds. “Two.” I open my eyes and catch sight of his other hand gripping his cock tightly, his briefs pushed down now as he sits up on his knees. When did he get in that position? Either way, I have the perfect view of his mouthwatering length. Long, thick, girthy. God, I want him in me. “Three.” He strokes harder. “Four.” The veins in his neck bulge. “Five,” he says just as he releases me and once again brings his fingers to his mouth to suck on them. My head falls back on the mattress and my hand quickly floats between my legs.
“Spread your legs more,” Walker says, his voice deep as he hovers over me, stroking his cock.
I roll my head to the side, so I’m looking at him as I spread my legs. His eyes are connected with my center and when he gets a view of my hand and what I’m doing, his grip grows tighter, the veins in his forearms popping with tension.
“What I wouldn’t give to fuck you with my tongue,” he says. “To have my face buried between your legs, tasting you, eating that sweet pussy of yours.”
My fingers move faster, stroking over my clit, rubbing it in just the right spot so every limb in my body starts to numb.
“I want you, Kate. And I don’t think this feeling will ever go away.” He leans down, hand still stroking his cock, his other hand next to my head. I stare up at him as he wets his lips. My breath stills in my chest as he grows closer and closer.
He’s going to kiss me.
I can see it in his eyes.
He’s lost all control.
The wall he erected around him, the tough exterior, it’s cracked. Fractured. Split in half, and the true man is coming forward. The man with needs. The man with wants. The man who seems to worship the ground I walk on.
His nose brushes against mine as he continues to pump his cock. God, I’m so close. He must be close too, by his pace.
“You’re so fucking tempting,” he whispers, his cheek rubbing against mine as he speaks closely to my ear. His five o’clock shadow brushes coarsely along my skin and I revel in the feel of it, of the alpha man who’s invaded my life and left me nothing but a pile of yearning.
“Walker,” I breathe out heavily.
“What?” he asks, his nose running along my jaw.
I bite down on the side of my cheek, holding back what I want to say, what I want to beg for.
I want his mouth on mine.
Desperately.
Before I can stop myself, I whisper, “Kiss me.”
He pauses and lifts up, his eyes meeting mine.
“Just this once.” When he doesn’t move, I add, “Please, Walker.”
His eyes search mine, his mind spinning, whirling with indecision.
“Please . . .” I say, one last time.
And I see the minute he capitulates. His eyes close briefly before he says, “Five seconds.”
I nod. “Anything, please. I just need your mouth.”
Something like possession rumbles from his chest as he brings his mouth to just above mine.
“Five seconds. No more.”
“Five seconds,” I whisper.
He removes his hand from his cock and brings it to my cheek. He rubs his thumb over my skin, the act so intimate that I’m caught in the moment, and then his lips press against mine. I forget to breathe.
As I continue to stroke my clit, the pressure in my core unbearable, I thread my other hand through his hair and hold him close as his lips dance across mine.
Demanding as usual, he holds me in place and lets his mouth do the work. The light brush of his scruff tantalizing me. The tease of his tongue bringing me to the precipice. The press of his thumb into my jaw claiming me as his in this moment . . . it sets me off, and my fingers rub my clit harder, until . . .
“Ah, God . . . Walker,” I say just as he pulls away, and bolts of lust shoot straight to my core. I convulse as I come beneath him, my moans playing out in the silent room. Pulse after pulse shoots through me until everything starts to fade, and my eyes open just in time to see the tightening of Walker’s chest, the flex of his pecs, and then the utter relief on his face when he comes above me.
He finishes over my borrowed shirt and then falls onto one hand, supporting his large body as he catches his breath.
“Shit,” he mutters while releasing his cock. He collapses to the bed and loops his arm around my waist, bringing me against his chest, where he kisses my shoulder tenderly.
His hand floats under my shirt and he caresses my stomach, holding me tight.
&n
bsp; “I’m—”
“Don’t you fucking apologize,” Walker growls, his body tensing against mine. And then, softer, he says, “Please, don’t apologize.”
I feel the pain in his voice. The worry that I might regret what happened.
“I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I pushed you—”
“Shh,” he coos softly, nuzzling his face into my hair. “What happened was because we both wanted it, because we both needed it.”
“I want so much more, Walker.”
“Me too,” he replies quietly.
“But we can’t.”
“I know,” he says with a sigh. “One night, that’s all this was. One . . . night.”
I turn to face him and cup his cheek. I look him in the eyes as his hand slides down to my backside, where he holds me tightly. “If all I have is this one night, I’m glad I got to at least kiss you.” And then for the last time, I tilt up his chin and place my lips on his for only a second before pulling away.
He sighs and rests his forehead against mine. “I wish things were different.”
“Me too, Walker. Me too.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
WALKER
I can’t remember the last time I came while dry-humping someone, let alone finished on their stomach. But here I am, semi-satisfied, lying next to Kate.
And I’m only semi-satisfied because I only allowed myself minor touches, small connections, brief seconds that I wish could turn into hours.
I want more than one night and I knew the minute I started touching her I was going to want more, but one glance from her unsure eyes and I knew I couldn’t push it.
Even though this is going to be incredibly painful, I’m going to have to honor our agreement.
One night, no touching.
Well . . . not a lot of touching at this point.
I draw lazy circles over her stomach with my finger and say, “One night.”
Resigning, she turns in my arms and presses her hand to my chest. “One night.”
Reluctantly, she slinks out of bed and heads to the bathroom, lightly closing the door. I sit up and press my hands into my hair. Fuck, how did we get to this point?
And am I going to be able to move on? Ignore this burning attraction I have for her? Probably eventually, but it’s not going to be instant and it sure as hell won’t be easy—but like she said, one night.
While she’s in the bathroom, I change into a new pair of briefs, tossing the other pair in the hamper, and grab her a new shirt to wear. I knock on the door to hand it to her and then wait outside the door. When she exits the bathroom, I walk by her, my fingers trailing across her hand. I make quick work in the bathroom, cleaning myself up and gathering my will to be able to sleep next to her, and do just that—sleep.
I switch off the light and catch a glimpse of Kate before the room dims. She’s lying on her side, facing away from me, her body curled up—looking cozy as shit.
Not wasting one more second of this night, I slip under the covers and press my body up against hers, weaving my arm around her waist and pulling her close to my chest.
I’m about to ask her if she’s going to go to sleep when I hear a soft sniffle.
Is she crying?
“Kate, are you okay?”
Another sniffle. I try to move her to her back, but she doesn’t let me; instead, she stays curled in a stiff ball, unwilling to move at my touch.
“Kate, talk to me.”
“I’m . . . sorry,” she says, her voice tight. “I told myself to be cool, but I wasn’t able to hold it all in.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m good.”
“Talk to me.”
She shakes her head, keeping her body turned away. “Please just lie down and hold me.”
I want to talk about it, hash it out, but I know what’s going to be said. We both want more, but can’t have more. She wants to keep her job, and I am under contract. There’s a huge roadblock in our way and no detour available. So I drop it, because I don’t want to go around in circles. Instead, I want to spend the night holding Kate, knowing it’s the only chance I’ll get.
Gripping the edge of the covers, I slip under them completely, pull Kate against my chest once again, and bury my head in her hair, my hand spanning across her stomach. She sighs at my touch, and after being so stiff, she relaxes into my hold.
Time ticks by as we lie there, enjoying the comfort of one another. Her hands clasp against mine as I breathe her in. A sweet, perfume smell fills me up and I memorize the scent—floral with a touch of sugary sweetness, all Kate.
“You’re not the man I thought you were,” Kate says, breaking the silence.
“What’s different?”
“You’re softer—”
“Can’t hear that enough.”
She chuckles and rubs her thumb over the back of my hand. “Trust me, you’re hard all over, I don’t think there’s one inch of your body that isn’t hard. I’m talking about your personality.”
“I’m not soft.”
“You are,” she argues. “Much softer than you let on. I don’t know if you’re protecting yourself or if you don’t open up easily, but when you let down the bridge and invite someone in, you’re actually very sweet.”
Sweet? Soft?
Not the words I would choose to describe me, ever, but I will say this, I am different around Kate. She does something to me, pulls out the sensitive side of me that I don’t show very often.
“Only around you.” I want to talk. I want to talk to her. It’s surreal.
“And the people you help out. I’ve seen you with children, with the elderly, with diehard fans.”
“But to me, they’re just people. I’m just me then too, Kate. I don’t offer up personal information. I don’t make myself look like someone I’m not. I’ve just never felt the desire to talk a lot. I’m closed off. I’m reticent. I’m okay with silence. I’ve never been a great conversationalist, and yet, with you . . . I find it easy—now. And I like it. But you did that. You, with your sass and smart mouth and firecracker mind. You.”
“I’m not sure I can agree with you on that one. You’re a good guy, Walker, and I’m glad I got to have a little piece of you.”
It pains me that she’s talking past tense, but I get it. I get it all too well.
“Whenever you want more, just let me know.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
WALKER
“You look exhausted,” Ryot says, walking next to me as we make our way across the tarmac to our team plane.
“Yeah, long night,” I say, pulling on my hair as the wind whips by us.
“Care to share?”
“No.”
Ryot grumbles something, but I tune him out, as my mind is still whirling from last night.
Kate on my lap, writhing back and forth, her hot body sheathed under my shirt, leaving everything to my imagination as she ground on top of me, her hair in her hand, her nipples pebbled, her hot pussy gliding against my cock.
Fuck, it was so good.
Erotic but innocent.
I never got to touch her the way I wished.
I never got to kiss her the way I desperately wanted to.
And when I woke up this morning to an empty and cold side of the bed, I realized I didn’t get to see her beautiful morning face.
I woke up feeling satisfied, desperate, and angry all at the same time, not a good combination, especially for my teammates who have to fly in a plane with me today.
I move my way to the back of the plane, skipping over the group tables and heading straight for an individual pod where I can be by myself.
When I take a seat next to the window, Ryot eyes me suspiciously but instead of questioning my seat choice, he situates himself in our normal spot on the plane, leaving me alone.
Thankful, I take out my wireless headphones and turn up my playlist, drowning out the rest of the cabin while I look out the window.
I knew this was going to be hard, that one nig
ht was going to be too much of a taste, but I didn’t think I was going to feel this goddamn empty. I didn’t think that my chest would feel hollow, my soul would feel depleted, and my mind would be left angry and frustrated. I expected some sort of relief, anything to ease the yearning that’s been building over the last month.
Needing a sip of water, I reach into my backpack for my water bottle. My hand collides with something hard, something I don’t remember packing.
Confused, I lift up my bag and peer in the open pocket, only to find a book inside.
What the hell?
I pull it out and check the front cover. My Favorite Summer, 1965, by Mickey Mantle.
How did this get in here? I open the front cover and a note slips out. Written in bubbly handwriting on a piece of pink paper is a letter from Kate.
Walker,
Thought you might want something to keep you busy on the long plane ride. I know you like to read on an e-reader when traveling, but live a little—crack open a book. This is one of my favorites and was sitting in my office. Thought I would let you borrow it. Did you read that? BORROW. I expect you to hand it back with a twelve-page essay depicting Mickey Mantle’s tales from 1965.
Good luck out on the road. Bring home some Ws and don’t forget to have fun.
Kate
I turn the book over in my hand and read the blurb on the back, excited about the new reading material. Before I can stop myself, I open up a text message on my phone and shoot her a text.
Walker: Slipping things into my backpack while I’m sleeping?
She texts back immediately, and with a goofy grin on my face, I slouch in my seat and get comfortable.
Kate: You snore.
Walker: You’re lying.
Kate: I am. You’re actually perfect when you sleep. It’s quite annoying.
Walker: When did you leave?
Kate: Four. Had the book in my purse and slipped it in your bag after searching around for ten minutes, wondering if you even had a bag you took on the plane, then took off.
Walker: You could’ve stayed.
Kate: I know, but I didn’t want things to get awkward.