Page 12 of Fumbling for Perfection

A feeling I don’t recognize in my chest has me wanting to track down any man Riley has been with and kick their asses. Partly because of how they disrespected her—yes, I see my hypocrisy—but mostly because I’m a tiny bit jealous.

Fuck that. I’m a big fucking shit ton of jealous. I’m not the possessive type and have never cared to settle down with a woman before. Not because I’m a man whore or a commitment phobe, but because having a relationship with a woman means sharing details of your life. Details I’m not necessarily trying to keep secret, but ones I’ve buried long ago.

Dredging up the past only feeds into my anger. I’ve got twelve defensemen on another team that piss me off on the weekly during football season. There’s no need to add any more fuel to the fire.

I drag my gaze down the front of Riley’s shirt—my shirt—and suck in a moan when I see her puckered nipples pushing against the fabric.

“Forget the yoga.” I pick up the tray of dishes and set it on the floor. “I’m down for a marathon.”

I sit up on my knees and look down at her. When she lifts those chocolate eyes to me, I push her to the mattress with my chest and hover over her, resting my hands on either side of her head.

She holds on to my arms, her fingertips not even circling halfway around my biceps, and whispers, “Marathon?”

“Mm.” I lower my mouth to hers, keeping a sliver of air between our lips. “I have two more condoms and so many positions I want to try. So many things I want to do to your body. Up for the challenge?”

She skims her hands down my arms and brings them between our bodies, cupping me over my boxers.

“The question is, areyouup for the challenge?” She squeezes my dick. “I can last all night,baby. Can you control yourself?”

The last thing I fucking want to do is control myself around her. She has me by the balls, quite literally, and I erase the distance between our lips and crush my mouth over hers.

Riley hooks her ankles around my hips and pulls me closer so my cock is grinding against her hand and pussy. When she slides her hand under my boxers, I pull back and sit on my heels.

“Nice try.” I take her hands and hold them in one of mine, pinning them to the mattress above her head. “You’re going to be the one begging, not me.”

It’s a lie. Total lie. My cock is begging, pleading, to be inside her, but this game is too fun to end. It’s a win-win, no matter who loses control first.

“You sure about that, big guy?” She lifts her pelvis and grinds against my cock.

I’ve never played games in the bedroom or flirted during sex. Hell, I’ve never even laughed during sex. The women I bring back to my hotel room know what they’re getting into. The flirting takes place at the bar or party or wherever I am, and usually done more on her end than mine. If I decide to take it further, there are no terms of endearment, no promises of a second round, and no smiling or laughing.

Moaning, groaning, fucking. The end. My dick gets wet and satisfied, she gets off on a couple of orgasms, and we part ways. It’s worked for me for the past decade.

But once and done won’t do it for me with Riley. I don’t even think I’ll be satisfied after our second round, even if I do win at this game of control. I like her for more than her impressive rack and the way she orgasms around my cock.

“Is that your strategy?” She cups my ass in her hands and squeezes.

“Strategy?”

“Zoning out while rubbing yourself against me? Are you thinking about taxes and baseball statistics or something?”

I furrow my brow and shake my head. “Taxes?”

Riley rubs her toe against my calves. “To distract yourself from coming too soon. Maybe I’ll do the same.” She closes her eyes and gives me a cheeky grin. “I have a load of laundry waiting for me to wash at home. Mostly it’s thongs and lacy bras. I need to—”

I don’t know whether to laugh or kiss her. So I do both, only I kiss her tits instead. I lick her nipple before sucking it between my teeth. Her gasps are going to be my undoing.

“Your dirty laundry is a turn on. Is thatyourstrategy?” I trace my tongue around her areola and bury my nose in her cleavage. “Think it backfired on you, sweetheart.”

She’s soaking the front of my boxers, and I rub my covered cock against her clit.

“You’re...cheating.”

“What rule am I breaking?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think with your mouth and body on me.”

“Good.” I tug her nipple between my teeth then lower my body, trailing my tongue down her torso and giving her a gentle bite on her hip.

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