Page 61 of Catching Feeling

“Your friend, huh?”

I nod. “Yeah, he doesn’t get on my nerves like some of the other players.”

I’m taunting him, hoping that he’ll bite.

Lowering my voice to a whisper, I say, “Why? Did that make you mad?”

I hope it did. I hope he’s so mad that he wants to angry fuck me right here on this coffee table. Finally.

“Fuck yeah, it did, Viv. I played that entire game with the taste of your cunt still on my tongue, and seeing you in another man’s jersey? It made me fucking… insane,” he rasps.

God, he is so fucking hot when he’s mad. All growly and possessive.

I stand from the couch, walk over to him, and step between his spread thighs, only stopping when my knees bump the chair. I lean down, my hands on each armrest, until our lips are a breath apart. My heart is pounding in my chest because I already know I’m playing with fire, and I want to be burned.

“Why did it make you mad?” I breathe against his lips. Not kissing him, just… a small taste.

His nostrils flare, his jaw ticks, and he reaches out, dragging his thumb along my bottom lip as heat burns in his eyes.

Come on, Reese, play with me.

His eyes flare. “Because the only fucking jersey you should be wearing is mine, Viv. The only name on your back should be mine.”

Holy shit.

I swallow, my throat thick with anticipation. “And now you’re angry? That I wore another guy’s jersey?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m fucking angry,” he grunts against my lips.

Pulling back, I slowly drop to my knees between his legs and gaze up at him through my lashes. “Then, let me make it up to you.”

My hands slide up his thighs, brushing over his hardening cock.

“You wanna make it up to me?”

I nod and tug his black shirt up, exposing the hard, sculpted plane of his abdomen. My nails rake down the muscles, each one contracting beneath my touch.

There’s so much tension in the air I can taste it, and my thighs press together in response. I’m so wet, so turned on by the exchange, I feel the dampness on my sweats.

“Then make it up to me, Vivienne,” he murmurs roughly, then laces his fingers behind his head and stares down at me. I can see the arousal swirling in the depths of his dark eyes, and it makes me hungry for him.

Hungry to have him in my mouth, to taste him.

It’s the one thing I’ve never done with him, and I’m desperate for it.

On my knees between his legs, he watches me tug the waistband of his gym shorts down. He lifts his hips so I can work them down until they’re pooling around his feet, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight, black briefs. The fabric is molded to his cock, and I swallow. Only a tiny, minuscule bit of hesitation flits through my mind when I think about how I’ll fit his cock into my mouth.

I wasn’t stroking his ego when I said his dick was huge. He’s thick and long, and my fist barely fits around him.

“Take my cock out,” he whispers low, the commanding tone of his voice making my clit throb. “And make it up to me with your pretty little mouth, Vivienne.”

Oh god. I’m so turned on right now I’m an aching, needy mess.

I grasp the fabric of his boxers and tug it down his hips until his cock pops free, bobbing between us. The head is thick and straining, with a little pearl of precum already beading on the slit.

Veins snake up the length to meet the broad head. He’s perfectly manscaped, with a small mat of hair at his pelvis matching the dark hair of his beard.

Our gaze locks as I curl my palm around him and tighten my fingers into a fist, milking more precum from the tip. My tongue darts out and swipes the bead away, inciting a groan of approval that I feel all the way to my core.

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