Romancing the Running Back

by Jeanette Murray

  Bubba. He shucked the boxers, had a moment’s pleasure at watching her eyes zero in hungrily on his erection, then rolled back into bed with her. She let go of her modesty then, as if once again they were on equal ground and she could relax.

  Relaxing wasn’t in the plans. He hooked an elbow below one knee, kissed his way quickly down her torso and set himself between her thighs.

  “Jesus!” she shrieked, her hands coming to the top of his head. “Warn a girl.”

  He just hummed, feasting on her while her fingers played with his hair. The simple feel of her touch against his scalp was almost as erotic as the taste of her, the feel of her slippery flesh against his tongue. While he circled and sucked, he reveled in each sound she made.

  “So . . . good. So . . . Josiah, stop. Stop. Stop!” She pulled at a hank of his hair until he raised his head, narrowing his eyes up at her. “I’m close.”

  “Then I’m doing my job,” he reminded her, starting to go back down.

  “No. I want the first . . .” She bit her lip, suddenly looking shy. She covered her face with her hands and muttered, “I want the first to be with you.”

  He paused, a little surprised by the statement. No, a lot. A lot surprised. He’d never had a woman who cared one way or another which order the orgasms came in, as long as she got one or two for the road. Was it the being equals thing again? Or was it more?

  Not wanting to waste time finding out, he flipped open his wallet, grabbed the condom he kept in there and rolled it on. Before she could uncover her eyes, he slid inside her.

  “Oh!”

  “I know, warn a girl.” He nudged her hands aside. “Hey Anya, I’m inside you.”

  She rolled her eyes, then closed them on a sigh when he thrust into her again. She tried to put her feet on the bed, but he could tell she was struggling with the heels.

  Which meant her pleasure was directly in his hands. Just as he wanted it. He rolled his hips, experimenting with circles, shallow thrusts, harder pulses until he found the combination that seemed to work the most. And there was no question about it. She was vocal, telling him exactly when he hit on a spot she liked.

  “There,” she panted, “there, right there. Don’t, don’t, don’t stop . . . oh, God. Josiah.” His name was almost nothing but breath as she clenched around him and came.

  With that sound in his head, he gave in to his body’s demands and climaxed.

  * * *

  Anya loved the way Josiah touched and cuddled and insisted on contact. He didn’t roll over and play dead, didn’t insist on having some space, or complain that she was too hot. If anything, he silently corrected her if she inched away, even by accident, pulling her back closer.

  It started immediately after they’d both caught their breath post-sex. He’d left to dispose of the condom, and she’d been too exhausted to move. If he wanted to leave, he’d have to leave alone. She wasn’t budging from the bed.

  But he’d only come back and crawled into bed, naked, beside her. She’d waited a moment, then rolled toward him. And he’d opened his arms to accept her head on his shoulder. Then pulled her tighter to him. Then adjusted her leg so it draped over his thigh.

  He was a snuggler. And a petter.

  “Are we gong to have one of those where does this leave us? talks now?” he asked, his voice a little gravely.

  She snuggled closer to him, nuzzling against his neck. His hair tickled her nose and she rubbed it along the underside of his chin to ward off the itch. “I’d rather not talk at all, if that’s okay with you.”

  “No let’s vomit out our emotions moments? None of that feelings chats stuff?”

  “Nmm-mmm.” She was warm, sexually sated, and more than a little tired after the full day she’d put in. Talking was not gonna happen.

  “Huh.” He sounded confused. Poor, simple man.

  “Shh.” She hugged closer to him. “Just . . . shh.”

  Just before she drifted off, she felt his lips press to the crown of her head, and his sigh.

  * * *

  She awoke to a brand-new experience . . . a man’s face between her legs. Josiah ate at her leisurely, as if he didn’t want the moment to end, only stopping after a whimpering orgasm and her hands in his hair pulled him from his place.

  “That was quite a way to wake up.” She kissed him, tasting a little of her own saltiness on his lips. Intellectually, she thought it might have grossed her out. In reality, it was sort of hot.

  “No condom. I’d have preferred another method,” he added, pressing his hard cock against her thigh, “but I’ll just have to wait.”

  “Maybe I could . . . what was that?” Anya nearly collided foreheads with Josiah as she shot up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. “Oh my God, is someone here?”

  “No.” He rubbed at his head. “Just housekeeping at the door. I called to have them bring up some extra trash bags before I, uh, woke you up. I thought they’d take a little longer.” He kissed her fast. “Stay in here. I’ll be back in a second.”

  It was then Anya realized he was already dressed in the same jeans he’d worn the night before. He slipped his wrinkled shirt on, still working the buttons as he walked out of the bedroom and to the door.

  She lay back down for a moment, absorbing what last night meant. It had been amazing. Stupendous, really. And she wouldn’t say no to an encore performance. But it couldn’t just be that easy, could it? Maybe he’d gotten his fill, and he’d be ready to move on. He’d be ready to—

  “Not sure what’s going on in that head of yours,” Josiah said from the doorway, startling her, “but if it’s the cause for that frown, put it away.”

  Donning a bright smile, she slid from bed and padded over to the overnight bag she’d brought with her, in case any guests crashed and she had to stay, too. “I’m not a morning person. Frowning before noon is sort of my default.”

  “Coulda fooled me, with all those errands we’d run before lunch.” He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You ready to clean up?”

  “Yes, after a cup of coffee.” She slid on a pair of underwear—not the spandex version, thank goodness—and then her most comfortable jeans. She put on the same bra from the night before, then a sleeveless navy blouse with anchors on it. Her hair she did a quick braid on. She could feel the tangles and snarls, and she winced, thinking of how much cream rinse it would take to get those out.

  Sin in darkness, repent with a wide-tooth comb in the morning.

  Sliding her feet into flip-flops, she turned and pulled up short, surprised to still find Josiah watching her. “What?”

  “It’s interesting, that’s all. Watching a woman get dressed. I never really considered it sexy before.”

  She laughed nervously, looking around for her booty shorts she’d worn under her dress the night before and her heels. Those, she stuffed in her duffle. “I doubt that. It’s covering up all the good stuff, right?”

  “Yes and no. Your body’s covered, obviously, but I’d hardly call that all the good stuff.”

  How did she stay practical when he said crap like that? She shot him another big smile, hoping none of the worry showed, and they walked down the short hallway to the open living room. “Let’s brew some coffee,” she said. “A swank place like this probably has a kick-ass coffeemaker.”

  “It probably does, but I ordered up some breakfast.”

  “You ordered up breakfast?”

  He shrugged and pointed toward the rolling tray by the couch. “They happened to have the brand of coffee I prefer, so I ordered a cup for myself, then a latte for you.”

  Oh, a latte. He’d paid attention when they’d taken a pit stop for coffee during one of their wedding-errand sprees. She picked up the glass mug of frothy coffee, took a sip, and made a sound of pleasure. “You remembered I liked hazelnut.”

  He shrugged and took a drink
from his own plain white mug.

  “Isn’t coffee, like, a major rain-forest killer?” she teased, sitting down on the couch. He sat beside her, not across, and she took that as a good sign.

  “Hence the brand. It’s a sustainable label. At the end of the day, if I’m dying and I need a hit of caffeine and all I can get is the normal stuff, I’ll drink it. But when I’ve got a choice, I’ll make the sustainable one.”

  “Reasonable,” she commented, letting the latte work on her mind and her body, giving her a boost. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Oatmeal and scrambled eggs for me, bacon and eggs for you, with toast for both. I didn’t know if you wanted jam, or what flavor, so they just sent up all they had.”

  She stared at the platter set out on the rolling tray, then on impulse leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  He kissed her again, as if to silently say, You’re welcome. Then he offered her a fork. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You’re a genius,” Trey told Josiah over the phone. “The blogs have figured out there was ‘some kind of party’ but they can’t nail down what it was, and the hotel staff isn’t talking because they don’t know much of anything. Without photos, and without anyone inside who could explain more, they don’t know if it was a bachelor party, a bridal shower, or if we freaking got married in there.”

  “The bulk of the party planning went to Anya,” Josiah reminded his friend as he sat down on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Anya, he remembered, didn’t have a coffee table to prop her feet up on.

  A freaking coffee table made him think about her. His mind was fully and totally occupied with all things Anastasia Fisher.

  “But the idea to have everyone agree not to post photos on social media was your brain child. That everyone agreed and followed through was a miracle, although Matt and Michael both took a photo in the limo on the way home. Just no hint of where they’d been or where they were going. I suppose that was close enough.”

  “Hmm” was all he said. He looked at the bike sitting by his front door and debated going for an afternoon ride. He had more energy to burn than normal on a Sunday afternoon, and no game to expel it with.

  He hung up with Trey a few minutes later, then fell asleep on the couch in a self-serving afternoon nap. He woke to a pounding on the door. He straightened, debated ignoring it, then sighed when the pounding continued. There went the nap he’d decided to take on the fly.

  “Coming,” he grouched, rolling up and walking to the door. “Coming!” he shouted just before he opened it.

  Anya stood on the other side, looking fresh and not at all groggy. Her brows rose as she gave him a head-to-toe scan. “Someone’s looking a little rough this afternoon.”

  “Someone didn’t sleep as much as usual, and woke up early to get out of a hotel room.” He took her arm and led her inside, closing the door behind her. “How are you so chipper?”

  “Ran home, took a shower, untangled my hair—which took forever, as expected,” she added, flipping her braid over her shoulder and giving the ends a nasty look. “And now I’m up. I’m not a morning person, and getting me out of bed before ten is rough work. But once I’m going, I’m going.”

  He grunted and walked farther into the apartment, heading for the kitchen and the pitcher of iced tea in his refrigerator. He pulled out two tumblers and filled them with ice before pouring the tea. Only a moment after he filled the second one did he remember. “You don’t like iced tea. Sorry, uh, I might have juice or—”

  “It’s okay. Is it sweet tea?” she asked, reaching out for the tumbler. He shot her a look that said Was that a real question? “Right, sorry. Southern gentleman. Of course it’s sweet tea. I can handle the sweet tea better than unsweetened.”

  He picked up his own glass and ran it over his forehead, hoping the cool contact would snap him out of his fuzzy funk. “How’d you find out where I lived?”

  “Cassie,” she said simply. “Told her we had stuff to go over.” She nibbled her lip. “I didn’t say anything about . . . you know. I didn’t know where you stood on the whole thing so I figured better to keep it quiet at first.”

  He hadn’t been entirely sure, either. His bike ride later was going to be dedicated to thinking of exactly that subject. But when she stood there looking so adorable, so kissable with her anxious face on, he knew the answer. Instinct served him well when deciding whether to zig or zag on the field, so he decided to go with his instinct again.

  He zagged.

  “I’m not going to forget last night.” He took a quick drink out of his glass, watching her over the rim. “I don’t want to. And I don’t want you to. I also don’t want that to be all we have.”

  She circled the rim of the glass with one fingertip, not meeting his eyes. “We have a wedding to help plan,” she said softly.

  “We have a relationship,” he said firmly. That snapped her eyes up. “Yup. I’m not doing the same thing Cassie and Trey did, sneaking around and trying to be all discreet about things. We slept together. That could have been enough if you were a different person. But you’re not.”

  “You can’t stand me,” she retorted. “And you annoy me.”

  “Great. We’re already having a better marriage than half of America,” he shot back.

  She snorted.

  “That shit is past. I don’t have to understand your job to understand you. You don’t have to get sucked into my hobbies and passions to get sucked into me.” He waggled his brows to add a little humor to the topic.

  “Gross,” she said, playing into the joke.

  “You didn’t think it was gross this morning,” he pointed out. She rolled her eyes and took a tiny sip of tea. “I want to spend time with you, just doing things because we want to. Not because Cassie needs help picking out hair things or Trey wants me to find special socks or whatever.”

  That made her lips twitch, but she fought to keep them firm.

  “Anya.” He set his tea down on the counter and gripped her hips. Then he kissed her gently. Her lips were cool, a little wet from the tea, crisp and perfect. “Anya. More of that. More of you making fun of my koala-fart towels, and me moaning about zippers or whatever. More.”

  “More,” she sighed, then her eyes widened as if she hadn’t meant to say it.

  “Too late to take it back,” he said, satisfied. He grinned when she slapped his arm. “You’re hooked, babe.”

  “I’m just using you for your koala-fart towels. I can’t afford my own, you know.”

  “Works for me.”

  * * *

  “Your apartment is very interesting,” Anya said an hour later, sitting on the couch with Josiah. He was watching a few other football games, flipping between channels. She kept craning her neck around to take it all in.

  “Is ‘interesting’ code for ‘ugly bachelor pad’?” His eyes didn’t leave the screen.

  She reached out and stroked the back of his neck with one hand, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His head drooped forward a little in response, an encouragement to continue, but he said nothing.

  “No, not at all. It’s just interesting. Most of my friends, well, their homes fall into one of two categories. They either can’t afford anything and so they thrift-store it all and it’s an odd mishmash of items that are functional but not great to look at. Or they can afford to do better and they just flip through the Pottery Barn catalog and say, ‘Page 19 looks good, we’ll take it.’ Aesthetically pleasing, but not very original.”

  “The furniture is all—”

  “Let me guess. Sustainable, eco-friendly, and conscious.”

  He shot her a glance from the side before looking at the screen again. “I had to beg my landlord to let me change out the appliances for high-efficiency ones, promising to leave them when I move out. Same with
the bamboo floors. Haven’t quite talked her into solar panels yet.”

  “Doubt you will. This isn’t exactly a great neighborhood,” she pointed out.

  “Biking distance from the practice fields, and some friends’ houses.”

  “There is that,” she murmured. “Not very big.”

  “I’m a single guy.”

  “No waste,” she guessed. “Can I look in your bedroom?”

  “Sure.”

  They must really be in a relationship . . . he was already paying better attention to the Sunday afternoon games than her. She’d put a stop to that.

  Wandering into the one closed-off space—minus the bathroom—she took in the simple queen-size bed, single dresser, and half-full walk-in closet. What a shame. They should trade closets.

  She debated looking in a few drawers, then decided against it. Too nosy. But surely a guy like Josiah would have condoms . . . he wasn’t a monk. He was a responsible man. He’d had one with him in the hotel.

  The closet door was open, and it felt a little different walking in there to grab one of his soft blue button-down shirts. Not snooping, since it was in plain sight. It was then she noticed the open drawer of his nightstand. A phone charger, a little dish that held coins and a button, and a box of condoms, which looked hastily ripped open, lay within view. As if he’d been in an extreme hurry to get the box open and grab one, and it ripped in his haste. She took a chance and tore a foil packet off the end of the roll from the box.

  She undressed and slipped the shirt on, tucking the condom in the breast pocket, then padded barefoot into the living room. Josiah hadn’t moved an inch.

  “Hey.” She walked up behind the couch and ran her hands through his hair. “Do you want to talk for a bit?”

  He made a pleasurable sound, but she knew that was just from the feel of her hands through his hair and not because he was looking forward to talking.

  Her fingers tunneled through the dense brown hair. How often did he get it trimmed? Was the shaggy nature a style preference, or just out of laziness? Maybe she could convince him to let her play with a few different style options, just for fun.