Page 129 of Scoring the Player
His gaze collides with mine.
As if he senses the fierce protection pulsing in my chest, his mouth slackens, and the lines of laughter vanish from his face.
Our chests rise and fall in rhythm as we meet each other with nothing between us.
I start toward him when he charges, tackling me to the ground.
Sharp razors cut through my pecs. “Fuck me like it’s me you’re inside of,” he growls, ripping his teeth from my skin.
My vision wipes out until he’s pinned under me, my hand wrapped around his throat, his legs creating a door across the mud.
I scrape my teeth across his neck.
His eyes mirror the dark sky, the only warning before his legs coil around my torso, and air whooshes from my lungs as my ribs press in.
Even now, as his dick stabs into my stomach, I must earn his submission.
I yank his curls, lifting his face, and then I clamp onto his lip until I taste iron, and he drops his knees.
Uncurling my hand from the lube, I squeeze some into my mouth, sink my chest into the mud, and lower my tongue.
His thighs cradle my head as he writhes against my mouth, and I lick and finger him open.
A growl rumbles from my chest, and I bite the inside of his thigh until he releases his erection.
I scrape the bottle of lube off the forest floor and watch him wet his lips as I sit up, pull out my sheathed cock, and douse it with the liquid.
“Look at me,” I order when his eyes roll closed.
I throw his legs over my shoulder, folding him in half as I press my forehead to his, and cry out as I sink into his tight heat.
Warm velvet and molten silk envelop me like a second skin, molding around me and receiving me perfectly.
My fists burrow into the earth.
What power has given me the restraint to breach but not storm these walls I claim as my home?
My name is his chant—his eyes, stained glass windows into a soul I’ll worship until my last breath.
Mine.
Yours.
Ragged moans echo as I tunnel deeper. Mud-covered fingers scrape at my back. I breathe against his mouth, ascend the ridge of cheekbone, and drink in the waters breaking through the mountains.
Cry. Let go, Blue.
Come home to me.
Wet, cold air spirals around us, thrashing the storm-drunk trees. I flow, submerge deeper, deeper still.
Hurtling wind and storm and slow-building rapture.
Look! We’re the center of our own vortex, baby.
Sinking into the slick earth.
His lips wrap around my nipple.
