Page 50 of Rafferty

Rafferty removes his hand, presses his lips to mine briefly. “Give me that condom, babe.”

“What?” I murmur, completely blissed out.

Rafferty chuckles, takes the rubber from my hand and covers his cock with assured movements. Then he’s on me, between my legs and spreading them wide with big palms to the insides of my thighs. He guides himself to me and starts to push his way in.

My body feels like it blossoms, opens up for him, and he slips farther and farther in until I’m absolutely full and his pelvis is pressed to mine. Our breathing is harsh and ragged, our eyes locked onto each other. I’m no longer mellow but instead pulsing with renewed arousal.

Resting his forehead against mine, he whispers, “Feels so good inside you. Wet and goddamn tight as hell.”

He lets out a staccato breath and then starts to move. The sensation is so intense and I make the mistake of looking down between our bodies, the sight of his hard, thick length tunneling in and out of me. My head spins, my belly tightens and my hips gyrate against his movements.

Rafferty’s mouth goes to my neck, peppering it with butterfly kisses as he thrusts slowly but oh so deeply. I grip tightly onto his hips, silently urging him to give me more. The pace picks up, the bed rocks, and all I can think isharder,harder,harder.

“Babe… I’m close,” he grunts with a particularly hard thrust. “So fucking close.”

“I’m… I’m…” I don’t know what I am but I feel like I’m going to die from the pleasure.

Then Rafferty’s hand is between us, his index finger back on my clit and the sensation is too much. I lose myself, giving in to him fully and that’s when my second orgasm hits. Just as before, it comes fast and without warning, robbing me of my breath and possibly my sanity as I don’t understand how something can feel so good.

A primal sound of desperation escapes as I climax, my body quaking all over with release. Rafferty slams into me once, twice, and on the third time, he goes utterly still, as if bracing for the bomb to go off. When it does, I’m fascinated by the way his head tips back, neck muscles corded and he groans like a dying man.

“Jesus,” he gasps, collapsing on top of me.

I can’t help but smile, wrapping my legs around his hips and slipping my fingers in his hair. We lie there entwined, breathless and satiated. Everything right in my world.

“That was…” I struggle with the words, still holding on to the last tiny fizzles of my orgasm.

Rafferty lifts his head to look at me curiously.

I give him a sheepish smile. “I don’t know that the English language has created a word that could adequately describe what that was.”

He flashes a toothy grin, his eyes bright with amusement and then he’s kissing me again. He mumbles against my lips. “I think that requires further research.”

My arms wrap around his neck, and I kiss him back.

Yes, more research. That’s a great idea.

CHAPTER 20

Rafferty

The mood isjubilant as we walk through the Washington Airport, the second stop on our two-leg away game trip. We clinched an easy win over the Atlanta Sting last night. Today is dedicated to travel and we’ll have a light skate practice tonight. Tomorrow night we play the Breakers then we return late to Pittsburgh, and all I can think about is getting back to Tempe.

It should concern me that she’s constantly on my mind, but then I decide to cut myself a break. If this is what it feels like to be falling for a woman, then I can’t see a damn thing wrong with it. As long as my head is in the game and I’m performing at peak, then all my other time can be spent thinking about Tempe.

Penn walks ahead of me and North, his head down so as not to make eye contact with the handful of fans who line the barriers. It happens in every airport we walk through… Titans fans are spread far and wide and we always get a warm welcome. Shouts, cheers, signs… it’s cool as fuck, and North and I stop periodically, along with the rest of the guys, to take pictures.

Not Penn though. He’s more withdrawn than ever. He wouldn’t talk to King about the incident at Stevie’s bar and as shocking as that was, I know it truly happened because his nose is swollen and he has two black eyes. Our trainer asked Penn about it yesterday in the Sting’s visitor locker room and Penn grumbled, “Walked into a door.”

None of us corrected him because we’re loyal. No way would we rat him out for getting into a bar fight, which could have serious repercussions.

“Rafferty! Over here!” A young boy waves a jersey at me, and I lean down to sign it, offering him a smile. I thrive on this energy, the support. It’s one of the biggest perks of this job.

As we push toward the exit, the noise shifts subtly. The fans’ enthusiastic calls are drowned out by harsher, more aggressive shouts as we step outside into the blustery air. I catch snippets of words that don’t make sense.

“Doping…,” “Needles…,” “Buying drugs…”

Questions swirl around me, thrown by reporters who’ve knotted into a tight crowd between the team and the bus that will take us to our hotel. Confusion clouds my head, and I glance at North who seems as discombobulated as I am.

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