Page 80 of Body Check

Everything is hard.

My cock, my body, the rough way that I crush my mouth over Holly’s. I’ve got her hands tangled with mine, lifted to the wall above her head. The hotel hallway is empty, save for us, and even if it weren’t, I don’t think I’d find the strength to stop and step away.

The night that we were together outside of the practice arena, there’d been a measure of hesitance in my touch. Would she tell me to stop? Would she turn away and leave me standing there, my dick out of my pants and my heart bleeding on the concrete?

There’s none of that hesitance tonight.

I kiss her like I own her.

She mewls into my mouth like I’ve always been hers and hers alone.

I lean into her body, my hands palming hers flat on the wall as I nip at her mouth and growl, “Legs around my hips. Now.”

A shiver wracks her shoulders as she throws her head back. “Give a girl a boost.”

Never let it be said that I don’t know how to take an order.

I give her the boost.

My hands under her ass. Her hands locked on my shoulders as her feet come off the floor. I hoist her up until her muscled thighs are clamped around my hips and I’ve got her back pressed to the tiled wall. She moans when my hard-on brushes the apex of her thighs, one hand clinging to the nape of my neck.

Nose brushing the underside of her chin, I mutter, “Hands on the wall, sweetheart.”

“Tell me why.”

A husky laugh rips from my throat. “What do you mean, why?”

She lowers her weight ever so slightly, taunting me with the very real possibility of her riding my cock once we get in the hotel room.Fuck, even that slightest graze of her panties on me . . . My forehead falls to her shoulder.

Like a temptress, she uses her hold on my neck—her fingers splayed over my traps—for balance as she grinds down on me. She swivels her hips to a rhythm she only hears, but that doesn’t mean I don’t lose my mind all the same.

Her blue eyes flick up to meet mine, pupils dilated with desire. “You think you’re the only one who can have control around here?” she taunts playfully. “I don’t think so, Captain. I don’t think so.”

She punctures each word with another roll of her hips, using my frame like a pole as she undulates like rippling water. A groan works its way up my throat and I don’t bother to silence it. Holly does this to me: strips my control and leaves me a panting, hot mess.

My forearms fold in on either side of her head, my legs planted evenly as she fucks with my mind, my body.

Teeth nip at the juncture of my shoulder and throat. “You’re not the only athlete in this hallway, Jackson.” The words are whispered against my heated skin. Her nails bite into my shoulders as her rocking turns dirtier, more pointed in the way she hovers and dips over my dick. “Do you remember coming to see me dance at Cornell?”

Dance, as in Jazz, Hip Hop, mixed in with a season-long stint on Cornell’s gymnastics team before an injury sat her out for good. She’d been music in motion, twirling on her toes and leaping through the air. So different to what I did for the school—bulldozing guys into the boards, dropping mitts and going to bat, fists snapping out to connect with jaws and skulls and noses.

Holly was poetry, all lean muscles and elegant lines.

I was a beatbox rhythm, fast counts and broken expectations.

“What do you want?” I rasp against her skin.

Her lips skim the underside of my jaw. “To bring you to your knees.”

Famous last words, right there.

Without giving her the chance to protest, I readjust her weight in my arms and stride down the hall to my room. There’s nothing but the sound of my soles brushing over the thin carpet and our heavy breathing as I close that final distance.

Ten feet.

Six feet.

Three feet.

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