But I’ve never felt better.
I allow my hands to roam over his gorgeous face and into his hair. It’s getting long enough to brush the collar of his suit coat. I take one deep breath after the other, filling my lungs with his scent.
My tears start falling.
“No, no, please stop,” Knox says in a panic. “What can I do?”
His hands try to brush away my tears and the sweetness of the gesture only turns up the waterworks higher. I don't make any effort to stop them or him.
“These are happy tears,” I inform him gladly. “I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to touch you again.” I take his hands, placing them over my sweater covered breasts. Instinctively, his palms curl around the round flesh. His thumbs graze my sensitive tips. “You feel so good,” I moan. “Never stop touching me.
“I won't,” he swears. “I won't ever stop.”
He curls forward, closing the small distance between us. His mouth meets mine with so much tender love I explode in bliss. He tastes minty and male and so wonderfully familiar. His tongue snakes inside to rub against the roof of my mouth, along the ridges, setting off a riot within my taste buds. He’s the best thing on the menu, the only flavor that will ever appease my growing hunger.
I run my hands freely underneath his suit coat. We have a mountain of clothes between us and I’m desperate to get them off. I want that the hair-roughened skin against my more delicate frame. I want to run my tongue over those hard muscles and take the hardest, velvety part of him into my mouth, into my body, into me.
“We need a bed,” I whisper throatily against his mouth.
He groans and tightens his hands around my breasts one more time before lifting me back onto my side of the vehicle. With exquisite care, he reaches over and buckles me in. Satisfied that I’m secured, he reaches a hand up to my face and brushes my hair back. “I love you, Eliot Masters. I still love you.”
Water drips down my face. “If you want me to stop crying, you can’t say those things to me.” I clutch at his hand and presses waterlogged kisses into his palm.
He releases a small huff of laughter. “I guess you’ll cry a lot then.”
“Will you cry if I tell you I love you back?” I nuzzle my cheek into his hand.
“Maybe. Why don’t you give it a try?” The evenness of his voice is an effort.
“I love you.”
He doesn’t cry, but his eyes soften toward me and love shines through; better than tears in my opinion.
Knox puts the vehicle in gear and heads downtown to the hotel. We get there, but I don’t remember the trip. All I know is that I can touch him again, feel him, breathe him in.
That he’s mine again…and forever.
•••
“I feel…discombobulated,” I admit as we wait for the hotel elevator. People stare at us. I suppose we do look a sight. My veil is askew and Knox’s jacket drapes over my shoulders.
“I told Matty that’s how I felt. Thick headed and muddled. We concluded it’s how quarterbacks must feel when they’re sacked.” He ushers me onto the elevator.
“So we’ve gotten sacked by love?” I snort. It’s corny but sweet, and totally Knox. At the core, he’s a romantic. The man saved himself for the right girl and somehow, I’m her. All my life, I’ve never been anything but Jack’s sister. To Knox, I’m the person he waited for his entire life.
“Yeah, but we’re never saying that shit again.”
I hide a smile. At least now I have something to torment him, and Matty, with. Sacked by love! How hilarious. The elevator stops at the fourth floor and Knox leads me to our room.
My humor turns quickly to something else, because the minute the door of the hotel room closes, Knox has me up against the door. His hands shove my jacket off. His mouth fastens to mine. We each toe our shoes off and leave them haphazardly in the entryway. His jacket gets tossed onto the sofa as we pass by it.
He pulls me toward the bedroom, not once lifting his head. We kiss like the world will end tomorrow. Like we haven’t seen each other in years. Like he’s a soldier returning from an endless deployment.
We kiss like we love each other and don’t know how to express it in words, only in touch. His tongue works against mine in ways both fevered and reverent. I can’t imagine kissing another man. I don’t want to. This taste, this touch, this tenderness is all I will ever want or need.
In the bedroom, we tug at each other’s clothes. Our mouths separate so we can get rid of his suit coat.
“Nice.” Knox waggles his eyebrows as my skirt comes off with one tug of the bow. We both pull off my sweater and bra until I’m in nothing but a pair of pink panties.
He pushes me onto the bed. “I’ve missed your hot body,” he says before lowering his head to pay homage to one very erect nipple. The other nipple gets plucked and tugged by his left hand while his right makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt.
We both groan when his hand finds its way between my legs.
“I love how wet you get for me,” he mutters against my breast. “Wet and hot.” He sinks one finger inside me and I nearly expire right there. “Wet and hot and tight.”
“It’s been so long.” Three weeks has been three years, he’d said; right on the money.
“Yes,” he starts to dip lower, but I grab his shoulders.
“What is it? That time of month?” He looks anguished and I have to stifle a laugh.
“No. I need you inside me. Now. Because it’s been so long.”
He understands. I see it in his eyes, the way they darken and become hungry. Well, hungrier.
He pushes to his feet. As his hands go to his waist, I suck in my lower lip in excitement. He's so beautiful and I pause to take it in. Everything about his frame speaks of power and strength, from the width of his shoulders to the massive span of his arms. But there’s vulnerability, too, in the surprisingly narrow waist, accented by the hard obliques, and centered by the slabs of rectangular muscles outlining the dark hair arrowing down to the heavy shaft that bobs eagerly in the air as Knox steps out of his pants. He shrugs off his shirt, removes his socks, and then stands motionless before me.
I run my eyes over every inch of him once, and then do it again. It’s hard to believe that all this goodness is mine.
“Like what you see?” he mocks gently.
“Yes, very much so.”
“My turn,” he says and reaches for me. I lie back and let him remove my panties. He reaches between my legs and strokes me lightly, teasing me even after I told him I could not wait. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Ellie. Fucking gorgeous.”
He lowers himself between my legs and runs his big hands along my ankles to my knees, then to my inner thighs, until his thumbs meet at my sex.
“You’re so pretty down here. Pink and wet.” He leans forward and runs the flat of his tongue from my clit to my pucker and back again. “And you taste like a fucking dream.”
“Please, Knox.” I’m not too proud to beg. “I need you.”
His fingers tangle in my curls as he continues to lap between my legs as if I’m not almost dying for the want of him. I dig my fingers into his hair and tug. He pushes his shoulders between my legs, spreading me out in an intensely vulnerable way.
“I want you to come on my tongue, Ellie.” His lips move against my skin and even that contact is so erotic I lift my hips to seek out more. “Every night we’ve been apart, I dreamt of you. I had your taste in my mouth and your scent in my lungs, but it would disappear when I woke. Now that I have you…” He pauses to curl his tongue around that throbbing bit of flesh at the top of my sex. “I want to eat you until I coat my throat with you.”
Above him, I shudder in full surrender. His words are nearly as erotic as his touch. I give myself to him, to his clever fingers and his adventurous tongue. He works me over for what seems like hours, one languorous caress after another, until I come in a flood, my toes curling into the air and my thighs trembling against his shoulders.
I reach for him and wrap my fingers around that stiff cock. He allows me to guide him to my center. My release has left me swollen, and despite the wetness he coaxed from me, I’m tight against his generous girth.
His lips pull back in a hiss as I suck him in slowly. He lets me set the pace this time, and I treat him with the same studied deliberateness he inflicted on me.
“Aww, fuck, baby,” he rasps out. “You feel so good. So good.”
He falls forward, bracing both arms next to my head. The languid slide of his body against mine is exquisite. And because I'm not afraid this is the last time I'll ever have him, I take my time reacquainting myself with his very perfect physique.
Each push forward and each retreat is slow and deliberate so that every tiny movement of his shaft inside me registers. The head drags against the softest, most sensitive tissue, eking out more pleasure than I think possible.
I rub heels against his calves, the wiry hair scratching against the soles of my feet. His shoulders tense under my hands and his biceps flex with each measured thrust inside my body.
“I love you.” I turn and press my mouth against one of those flexing muscles. “I love you,” I repeat. I say the words again and again, punctuated by kisses. He growls above me, the cage of his arms shaking with his effort to stave off his own orgasm.
But he’s a world-class athlete, and he uses whatever mind over matter voodoo lets him forget pain during a game to hold off the fire that licks over his body. He employs his strength and unmatchable endurance to work me into an utterly mindless frenzy, where all I know is sensation, pleasure, and never-ending joy.
His head dips to sip at my mouth. His tongue tastes my happiness and swallows my moans of delight. With hardly a break in rhythm, he pulls out and turns me over until I rest on my knees.
When he slides back in, a harsh groan breaks into the silence, punctuated only by our wracked and uneven breathing.
His hand curves over my bottom, lifting me off my knees until all my weight rests on my elbows. He takes me then, with furious strokes. His need has overwhelmed him, to my great enjoyment. I push back with whatever strength I have in me, but his hands clamp on my hips, holding me still as he hammers inside me.
I give myself over to his dominance. His wildness feeds my own until I barely know where he ends and I begin. We are one, infused with the same euphoria, possessed by the same need, bound together by the same love.
He releases one hip and dips between my legs to pluck at my clit until I explode around him.
“Yes, that’s it.” His voice cracks, loaded down by his hunger. “Come for me.”
I do. I convulse around him, hugging his shaft with tiny tremors until I feel him release inside me, filling me, completing me. I give myself to feeling and let it carry me away until all I know is him.
I barely register him pulling out, the warm wet of him on my thighs. He covers me with a blanket and then pads lightly to the bathroom. I hear a toilet flushing and then running water. I should clean up, but I’m too exhausted, too replete.
He returns and does it for me. My eyes flick open to see him running a dampened towel between my legs. He gives me a tender smile and leans down to kiss the freshly washed skin. From a suitcase that I didn’t notice before resting against the wall, he pulls out a new pair of panties and slides it up my legs. I raise my butt.
“You kept all my T-shirts?” he asks with a sly grin. He must have helped pack my things.
“Of course.” If I had energy, I’d roll my eyes.
He chuckles low and I hug myself at the happy sound. Knox pulls back the covers and climbs in, taking up the position against the wall. I burrow into him, pushing my butt into his groin and laying my head on his biceps.
“Hammer’s submitting an article to an online woman’s magazine about how sperm is good for a woman’s body. Think it’ll be accepted?” His hand strokes leisurely down my side.
“I’m scared for womankind,” I answer sleepily.
“But kind of curious?” He presses a kiss against the crown of my head.
“Scared.” But yeah, kind of curious. I drift off to sleep, full of contentment.
37
Knox
Game Day: Warriors 11-1
The atmosphere in the locker room consists of subdued hope. We’re one game away from ending the season with only one loss. We win today and we’re in the conference championships which is one step closer to our goal of a National Championship.
Coach has called reporters, analysts, and other coaches, making the case that we belong in the playoffs. The selection committee isn’t bound by the polls that have us ranked seven. They make their own decisions. Today we give the selection committee every reason to place us in the top four.
Beneath the dry fit T-shirt, the pads, and the jersey, my heart beats double time.
I get up on a bench and wait for Matty to pull his headphones out. For Hammer to stop texting. For Ace to gather up the offense.
When the room falls silent, I raise my helmet above my head. “We started this season with one goal—for a chance to play for a title. That goal still exists. For some, this is the last home game we play.”
Somewhere in the crowd I hear a gasp. Not everyone knows I planned to declare. It’ll be out there soon enough, but what’s said in the locker room stays here.
“We’ll never step foot on Union Field wearing the Warrior’s uniform. Our locker will hold someone else’s uniform. Our time here will become a memory.” I tap my helmet against my head.
The team looks at me with rapt attention.
I don’t say anything for a few moments because I need to take one—one last time. Even if we win today, this might be the last time I wear the gold and blue. It’s been a crazy, exhilarating, mind blowing, heart aching, unforgettable three years. I’m not leaving without a fight. I’m ready to lay everything I have out on that field.
“Every second on that field, we have a choice. We can play together as one unit, one machine, one heart. If we do that, no matter the outcome, we will have met our goal. Today I plan to play as if I will never get to play again. If I am still standing at the end of the game, I have not tried hard enough. Men!” I call sharply. “This is my heart. My will. My desire.”
I thump my hand across my chest twice in rapid succession. Matty follows. So does Hammer, then Ace, and then the entire locker room fills with the percussive beat of joined will. To that beat, I shout: “No one can defeat us if we believe. You have the heart of a Warrior?”
“Yes!”
“The pride of a Warrior?”
“Yes!”
Matty quickens the pace. The rest follow.
“The will of a Warrior?”
“Yes!”
The din of our fists against our hearts is overwhelming. I have to scream to be heard. “Then we will fight as Warriors. We will bleed as Warriors. We will win as Warriors.”
I jump down and grab Ace. We put our heads together and the team of ninety plus men gather at our backs. We move as one. One giant mass of flesh, muscle, and desire.
“Fight! Bleed! Win! Fight! Bleed! Win! Fight! Bleed! Win!” The team roars its promise. Someone opens the doors to the tunnel and we burst out, running like we’re chased by bulls. No, we’re chasing the bulls. We’re the meanest, nastiest, toughest fucks on the planet, and today is our time.
The Lions win the coin toss and elect to receive. They want their number-two-ranked offense in the country on the field first. Fine. I jam my helmet down. I want to introduce Mr. Heisman to the turf as soon as possible. He’ll learn the only thing he’ll see today will be my number in his face.
It goes our way from the beginning. We win the snap and defer. The Lions start off on the twenty. I line up across from the left guard.
“You might want to kneel down now, because
you’re about to spend a lot of time on your back,” I inform the NFL-bound offensive lineman.
He snorts. “Sure, I am, jack wagon. You’ll be using your towel to dry those tears after we light you up.”
“Not this year.”
I hit him hard, pushing him aside, and run hard after the quarterback. He must feel my footsteps because he releases early and the pass is incomplete. I slap him lightly on the helmet before helping him to his feet.
“I hope you ate your Wheaties today, because you’re about to have a workout.”
The Heisman trophy candidate glares at me as I run back to my side of the field.
I jaw all day. To the nose tackle, I ask, “Did you dress more than three deep at the tackle position? Because I’m going to wear you and your backup down to nubs by the end of the first quarter.”
“You should stay down, Marshall,” I tell the strong side linebacker. “It’ll save you some pain.”
In the fourth quarter, I feel like I haven’t played a down. I slap Hammer’s ass hard. “We making good television today, Hammer?”
He laughs like a hyena.
At the end of the game, after the press has left, I’m drenched in Gatorade and sweat, standing on top of the bench. The faces around me are wreathed with unadulterated joy.
It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. We'd beaten the number five ranked team in the country. That means we should take their place in the rankings tomorrow. One short of what we’d need to make the playoffs.
I stand for a moment and look into the stands shrouded in royal blue Warrior gear. Others do the same—seniors who won’t go to the next level. Guys who played for four years, but will move on to be businessmen, doctors, lawyers. No matter where they go in their lives, they’ll always be able to say that they played for one of the best college teams in the country. I have no doubt that if you asked every one of them if their broken fingers, black eyes, bruised bodies were worth it, they’d snap out a yes faster than you could blink.
Sacked (Gridiron #1) Page 27