Page 26 of The Only Goal

I mean, like that. Do you love him romantically?

I’m not sure. Although my body would suggest otherwise.

Our breaths are growing short as we deepen the kiss again. I skim my hands over his shoulders, curling my fingers around the back of his neck and letting my tongue take the lead on this.

He tastes amazing. I love the feel of our tongues gliding against each other. Long licks, then short swipes, then another lick that pulls a moan out of my throat.

Baxter’s hands are skimming my back, the pads of his fingers sending tendrils of pleasure across my skin.

I want him to undo my bikini.

The thought catches me off guard for a second, but I know it’s true. My body is yearning for pure skin on skin, and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching back and doing it for him.

“Tammy, what are you…?” His words trail off as I sit up and let the fabric slip off my shoulders.

His face is the picture of awe, his eyes drinking me in like I’m the eighth natural wonder of the world.

“You’re beautiful,” he croaks, trying to sit up.

I shuffle back to give him room, and he reaches for my chest, then stops, his hand in midair as he checks my face.

“It’s okay.” I grab his fingers. “I want you to.” Placing his palm over my right breast, I catch my breath when he gives it a light squeeze.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, his lips flirting with a smile as he curls his hand behind my neck and pulls me forward for another deep kiss.

His hand is still massaging my breast, and it feels new and tantalizing and so freaking good. Then he lets his fingers explore, brushing over my nipple—a delicate study of my sensitive skin.

My tongue falters in his mouth, and I sit back with a gasp. “That feels good,” I manage, staring down at his fingers on my nipple.

He cups the side of my breast and runs his thumb lightly over the nub. I can’t help a soft whimper. Biting my lower lip, I relish this buzz of energy running all the way through me. It charges down to between my legs, tingling and begging for more.

I don’t even have to ask him before he’s reaching for my other breast, teasing the other nipple as well until I can feel this intense pressure and heat pooling at the top of my thighs.

I’ve never felt like this before.

I’ve made out with guys when we played spin the bottle at parties. I’ve done seven minutes of heaven in the closet with Ricky Tolson at his fourteenth birthday party, but that was just heavy kissing and some over-the-shirt action.

This is something else.

“Bax,” I whisper, fisting the back of his hair and angling his mouth to mine.

Our kisses turn deep again. Deep and desperate. He starts to groan, too, and my hips can’t help but rock over him.

He groans again, squeezing my breasts and letting out a soft whimper.

I can feel his hard shaft skim my inner thigh, and oh man, I want to see it, touch it.

Ripping my mouth from his, I stare down at his tented board shorts. He’s breathing hard, his face the picture of desperation. Is the pressure too much for him too?

“I want to touch it.”

“Tammy.” He breathes my name, but I don’t give him a chance to say anything else.

Skimming my fingers into the waistband of his shorts, I ignore that flash of trepidation and pull them down. His dick springs free, and now it’s my turn to gaze in wonder at this thing. It’s hard and long with this glistening drop at the end of it. I’ve never seen a penis before—only cartoon images in puberty books.

This is… “Wow,” I whisper.

He groans, tipping his head back like he’s about to orgasm, but I haven’t even touched him yet.

---