Page 50 of The Game

That’s better. He’s got on a tight white compression shirt that hugs the sculpted perfection of his chest and biceps. Loose blue basketball shorts do a poor job of hiding his hard on. And it’s all for me. His hands grip my arms when I go for the gold again.

“Seriously, Jazz. I meant it. I’m going to need you to keep your hands to yourself. At least for a little while. It’s been a long time since anyone else touched me and I don’t know how good my self control is.”

I nibble on my lower lip up, flicking my eyes up to look at him, but his eyes are closed, head tilted back to reveal the length of that neck I want to nibble on.

“How long?”

“What?” he asks, rubbing his hands up and down my biceps.

“How long has it been since you were with someone else?”

He finally opens his eyes to look down at me. “A year and a half.”

A year and a half. Wait, so that means… “You haven’t been with anyone else since your ex?”

He shakes his head, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard again. “I’ve never been with anyone except her.”

The confession rocks me back like an explosion. “You’ve never been with anyone else?”

He winces. “Nope. Was that weird? Did I just fuck this up?”

I’m frozen in place, thoughts racing while I try to gather them enough to form a coherent sentence. A college senior athlete who has only been with one person? It doesn’t seem possible.

I finally get myself together enough to shake my head. “No, but are you sure you want to do this?” I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Everything I’ve heard about the hockey team is that they’re a bunch of players. Even Aspen had his share of women before he finally gave in to his feelings for Jordan.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Can I ask why?” It’s not like I’ve been sleeping around, but I hooked up with an old boyfriend over the summer. I was in a low place, after running from Darryl, and I fell into his arms. It was a terrible idea. He was not as bad as Darryl, but he never treated me right, either. If anything, it intensified my fear of getting involved with someone again. My judgment with men is obviously less than stellar.

“I haven’t wanted to. Until now. Until you. I’ve never been interested in sex without getting to know someone first. Not my thing. I used to think maybe I was broken or something, but now I know it’s just the way I’m hard-wired.”

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling vulnerable with all my skin on display now that the conversation has taken a turn.

“But we’re not together together.”

“But we have a connection. A friendship and apparently that works for me.”

“I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” My arms squeeze tighter around my chest. He seems to realize how uncertain I am, because he reaches a hand up to tilt my chin so he can meet my eyes. He peels my arms apart, getting a firm grip on my hand and dragging it down his front until I’m touching his dick again. I think it may have swelled even larger if that’s even possible, straining against the confines of his shorts.

“Oh, I want to. You have no fucking clue how badly I want to feel your hands on my cock, your tits in my mouth. I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin if I don’t get a taste of your sweet pussy. Never doubt the effect you have on me.”

Before I can respond, his large hands slide under my bare thighs, yanking me off the floor until I wrap my legs around his waist. My back hits the door with a thump and his cock crashes into my pussy, grinding against me through the fabric. Too much fabric.

My fingers are drawn back to waves of hair on top of his head, tugging on them to bring him closer as he dips downto suck my nipple through the thin lace. I tilt my head back, moaning at the sultry heat of his mouth on my tight bud. My back arches, seeking more, and I’m rewarded when his fingers close over my left breast, pinching and toying with my other nipple.

Liquid heat shoots from my breasts to my pussy. I grind into him, and he spins me around, the world shifting as he carries me to his bed, dropping me with a soft bounce.

“Please.” I beg, missing the feel of his mouth and fingers.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.” I squirm underneath his gaze.

“Oh, I will. Lift.” He commands, his fingers hooking in the waistband of my matching pink panties.

I obey, lifting my hips off the bed so he can drag the fabric down my legs. He takes his time, placing small kisses on the inside of my thighs and down my calves as he goes, dragging them over my feet agonizingly slowly.

His hands slide up my freshly shaved legs as he takes his sweet time, moving back toward my center. Nerve endings light up one by one as he goes, and I’m not sure I’ll make it. Death by anticipation. Feels like a good way to go.

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