Page 60 of Fair Catch

“I know what I want. I want you to delete that app and never see any of those fuckers again,” he utters, the words coming out like a harsh command. “Not a single one of them is good enough for you, Kase.”

I smile, fingers gripping his waist. “And you think you are?”

“I wanna try to be.” His forehead collides with mine. “For you, I wanna try. And that alone is…”

“Insane?”

He nods, nose brushing mine when he does. “Yeah. Absolutely insane.”

Then he’s kissing me again. Hungrily. Punishingly.

Achingly.

A tinge of desire has sparks flying and butterflies swarming in my stomach, and rather than being terrified of them, I allow them to embolden me. Wrapping my arm around Hayes’ lower back, I haul him against me and walk him back toward the couch. But like at the restaurant, he quickly takes control from me, swapping our positions.

The backs of my knees collide with the seat cushion, almost causing me to stumble, while his mouth moves. First from my lips to my jaw, then my throat, as he peppers hot, wet kisses over my skin. His hands move too, mapping over my body, tracing the lines and planes of my muscles before shoving me down onto the couch, my ass landing on the leather cushions.

I stare up at him, taking in his heaving chest and straining dick behind the gray sweats he’s wearing, tenting them at the front. His hand squeezes the bulge, adjusting himself, and a shot of adrenaline immediately spikes through me at the sight of him touching his cock, even through his pants.

Part of me wants him to take them off, so I can see him completely.

But the other part of me…

“Just so we’re clear, I don’t think I’m ready—”

“I know. Relax,” he whispers before leaning down and brushing a kiss along my jaw. “I don’t even plan on rounding first base. So you’re just gonna have to settle for a good, old-fashioned makeout session.”

When he pulls back, the heat in his sapphire eyes could melt the Arctic tundra as he crawls into my lap, thighs straddling mine. My cock aches behind my zipper, and despite my protests about wanting to get naked right away, there’s a big part of me pleading for Hayes to strip me bare and have his way with me anyway.

Especially when his ass starts grinding down on my dick with every slow, seductive movement of his hips.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter, my head falling back against the couch. “That feels so fucking good.”

Hayes’ low hum has my stomach knotting some more as he leans forward, claiming my mouth again with fervent lips and a sinfully wicked tongue.

His erection presses into my stomach at this new angle, trapped between us. The friction of his ass rolling over my length sends another sharp bolt of lust to my lower stomach, causing it to twitch beneath him. Paired with his tongue flicking against mine, teasing me, it’s the most pleasurable form of torture.

“Think you can come like this?” he rasps after breaking the kiss again.

I nod, rocking my hips up into his while his teeth scrape down my neck. Goosebumps break out over my skin, and my hands tighten at his waist, holding him firmly against me while our bodies move together.

His lips pull up in a devious smirk before he murmurs a roughgood,then dives back in.

We’re all hips and tongues and hands, kissing and grinding and groping each other like a couple of horny teens desperate to get off before someone catches us. His teeth scrape over my skin, his fingers seeking as much as they can find too, and I’m doing my best not to blow my load a mere two minutes in.

“You can touch me. I want you to.”

His words come out hot and strained against my throat, and I’m so caught up in the feel of his mouth on my skin, I almost miss it entirely.

My hands get the memo, though, because they skate beneath his shirt to find the skin of his back and ribs blistering with heat beneath my touch. His shirt bunches up against my wrists as I trace over his obliques, and more than anything, I want it gone.

I want the sight that greeted me that day he came pounding on my door, a lit fuse under his ass.

Gripping the hem in my fist, I murmur, “Can I—”

He doesn’t even answer—let alone allow me to finish the question—before grabbing the hem himself and ripping it over his head. I don’t know where it goes after that, only that it disappears from view, leaving me with the sight I’d just been praying for.

And my fucking God, Hayes without a shirt is something straight out of my fantasies.

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