Page 13 of That One Night

It’s demeaning and gross, but it’s part of the life. The guys just have to get used to it and learn to be really careful. The groupies don’t care about the athletes. They only care about getting whattheywant—a few days or weeks of being pampered, some free gifts, access to exclusive clubs and parties.

Is that what he thinks this is for me? Am I using him like a groupie?

No way.

I don’t know his name or his sport. I don’t know his salary. And I’m not asking for anything. I wouldneverdo that. Hell, I’m still in bimonthly therapy from being raised in a similar environment. That’s what happens when your father is a world-famous rock star. Just one more reason I like my anonymity when it comes to my hookups. We still share a last name, and the press can be relentless and cruel. I’ve learned the hard way how to keep my head down and avoid all that spotlight-sharing bullshit.

I glance back up at the beautiful man standing so close to me. He wants me. He wantsthis. But he wants more. He doesn’t want to be used. And he’s feeling out of control. I’ve been the one driving this car from the start.

Oh god, he feels like the groupie.

He didn’t go up to the bar looking for a hookup. He went to get a drink and to feel sad about missing his sister. He’s only here now because he couldn’t avoid my pull, just like I couldn’t avoid his.

I stand, running my hands up his sides, resting them on his shoulders. “Look at me.”

He looks down, need and hesitation swirling in his hazel eyes.

“I want you,” I whisper. “Not for your fame or your name. If anything, fame sends me running. It doesn’t reel me in. And this isn’t about your body or me getting a quick fuck,” I add. “Maybe it started that way for like two seconds up at the bar,” I admit. “I was lonely and sad about some news I got today. But now I want you here because you’re kind and funny. I want you here because I feel aconnectionto you.”

I step closer, my tits brushing his bare chest as I splay my hand over his heart, feeling his strong heartbeat. I reach for his hand too, placing it over my heart. I close my eyes, letting my heart beat under his palm. “Do you feel that?” I murmur.

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel the synchronicity? We’re beating in time. I feel locked in with you—”

“I feel it too,” he says. “From the moment you turned around on that barstool, I’ve been kinda freaking out. I don’t do this. I don’t—I don’t do feelings with hookups,” he adds awkwardly. “I—this is crazy. I feel like I’ve got a lit firework in my chest.” He leans in, cupping my cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing over my parted lips. “Who the fuck are you?”

We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before I reply. “You already know me, I think…don’t you?”

He nods, his gaze softening. “Yeah…yeah, I think maybe I do.”

That truth settles between us. We know each other. Not in any real sense, obviously. We’re two nameless strangers. But we know each other all the same. Sometimes people enter your life and it’s a meeting. But sometimes, it’s a meetingagain. Déjà vu. Soul recognition. Whatever it is, we have it.

I know him. I’m safe with him. Iwanthim.

I sink back down onto the edge of the bed and scoot back. He follows me, crawling over me with ease, the muscles in his arms taut as he braces himself. He sinks into the cradle of my hips, his hard length still trapped behind a layer of fabric. Hands on his shoulders, I pull him down with me.

Our lips meet in another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, but just as starved. I’d be content just to kiss him for the rest of the night. A great make-out session can be more intimate than sex. Thank god he seems to want more.

We work each other up as we explore with our hands. I’m no dainty, size two plastic groupie. I’ve got curves and I love them. Freckles, cellulite, scars. He seems more than happy with my body, gripping me under the thigh to spread me wider, pressing in with his hips. His hard cock grinds against my clit, the friction from his briefs rough and delicious.

I fight a shiver, heat building in my core. That empty ache is growing. I need to be filled. I want him inside me. Too curious for my own good, I slide a hand down his marble-sculpted chest, brushing my fingertips down the little trail of dark hair on his stomach that leads to the top of his briefs.

He knows what I want, and he tips up his hips, not breaking our kiss. I flip my hand, slipping it inside his briefs. My hand wraps around his impressive length and he groans, biting at my bottom lip.

“Fuck—yes, touch it,” he says against my mouth. “Feel all of me. Take me in, baby.”

I sigh, stroking him from root to tip with an eager hand. He’s thick and long, his skin velvety smooth. He’s going to feel so good inside me. I can hardly bear to wait. My pussy is more than ready for round two.

I pull on his briefs, sliding them down his hips, freeing his length. He rolls to his side, stripping the briefs off and tossing them to the floor. His thick thighs are nothing but muscle, dusted with dark hair. His calves are just the same, long and sculpted.

My gaze settles on his hard cock, and I’m reminded all over again that I am so deliciously straight. Fuck, I love cock. I’m literally salivating at the sight of him right now. I need to taste, need to learn what he likes. Before he can pin me down again, I roll onto my elbow, scooting down the bed, eager to taste him.

He stays on his back, stretched out and waiting, totally at ease with me. He’s got one arm tucked behind his head and the other in my hair. I roll up to my hands and knees, letting myself appreciate him for another second before I sink my mouth around his tip.

“Fuck—good girl. Suck me,” he groans, one leg sliding up until his foot is planted on the bed. The other relaxes, his hip flexors rotating to open himself up for me.

I eagerly tease him, licking and sucking, running my tongue around his tip. My hand stays firm around his thick base.

---