Page 113 of Ella Gets the D
She parrots my outburst when her performance gets cut short with a leg cramp.
“My knees!”
“My knee!” I close my eyes and clench my leg, which is outfitted in a cryo knee wrap. It takes a second for the throbbing to subside.Shit, that hurt. “Are you okay?” I ask through labored breaths.
“Yeah.” She crawls off to the other end of the bed and glances back at my knee. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I move off the bed to test the pressure. “Come here.” She looks at me with a blank expression, so I help her by grabbing her foot and pulling her to me. This bed is a king, but it’s not as big as the one in the townhouse. “Come here meanshere. Get on your knees.”
She scoots away. “Julian, your knee—”
“Is fine. Yours is snap, crackle, and popping.” A smile slips through her lips and presses into a straight line. “Don’t get tight because you couldn’t finish what you started. No one told you to hold a squat for that long.”
We agreed to come back to my place after the game and have a quiet night in with Chinese takeout after a long day and an unexpected visit from her ex. He didn’t cause a scene and stayed through most of the match to watch Jackson and spend time with Haile before he left. El was visibly shaken at first, but she powered through like she always does.
Acrobatics weren’t on the menu, which means matching knee wraps tonight.
Ella crawls over to me with a tight mouth and a go-fuck-yourself glare for not calling it quits. I’ll take care of my kneeafter I take care of her. “Wet me.” My lips twitch at the fire in her stare.
Since you want to gawk, put that mouth to work.
I expect a lazy swipe of her tongue, but El surprises me when she grips my dick and takes me to the back of her throat. Her head bobs with vacuum force suction, buckling my good and bad knee. It takes extreme focus to dislodge her and not come on her face.Jesus.
She spins around to give me her back, lifts her ass, and casts a challenge over her shoulder. Two can play this game.
I fist my head and tap the barbell against her seam. She pushes back and gets just enough of the tip to incite a whimper that becomes a groan at my shallow strokes.
“Julian.” She rocks into me with a whine. When she looks back to see the smirk on my face, she pleads with a frustrated moan.
My next command is a whisper. “Forearms on the bed. Knees on my chest.” I lift her legs to my shoulders and feast.
I’ve eaten Ella from the back plenty of times, but never with her pussy in the air like this. My grip tightens at her attempt to wheelbarrow away.
Nope.
“Ride my face, baby.” I savor her with long licks. She wants to be more adventurous, and this position won’t force her to do the work with her knees.
“Oh my.” She spreads wider to throw her ass back. It puts her yoga classes to the test, and my lady is passing with flying colors. I flatten my tongue at each body roll and apply more pressure. “God yes!”
At her orgasm, I put her back on her knees and drive into the warmth between her legs. Her walls thicken, squeezing me like a finger trap. The heat from our skin slapping together turns her thick globes crimson.
Her body vibrates, and I tremor inside her at my release. She collapses onto her side and scoots to make room for me to join her. “That was...” Ella swallows. “Shit.”
I pull her in for a kiss and chuckle. “Not bad for an injured man, huh?”
She frowns. “We need to elevate your knee.”
My lips seal her to me before she goes full mom mode. “I know, sweetheart. Thank you for caring for me.” I reach for the toilet paper we keep under the pillow, put some between her legs, and hobble to the bathroom, where I turn on the shower. “Come get in, baby.”
It’s our second shower after a day on the pitch. Washington held it down, winning the youth game and the A- and B-side matches. I only played in the first after my old injury flared up. I’ll be fine, but nothing could stop me from getting to Jackson, who ran onto the field from the bleachers to congratulate me and the team. He asked his grandmother if he could stay to watch my game before they left to wherever their father was.
I love that kid. Haile too, even though she couldn’t care less about rugby. Her pint-sized screams for her brother every time he scored or had a good play were all that mattered. Coaching has brought new purpose into my life, and I’m grateful to watch Jackson flourish and come into his own.
There was a point I didn’t think we’d be able to pull enough kids together for a spring league, but to my surprise, the summer coaches knew some kids who were itching to get back on the pitch. Jackson heard I was coaching, and the rest is history.
He’s come into his own since the first time I met him almost a year ago. Still a quiet kid but no longer shrinks himself. He takes up space with a growing confidence and shines as bright as his mother, who pours into him and his sister.
Dating a woman with kids is new territory. It’s not my intention or place to replace their father—the thought of beingsomeone’s parent still terrifies me, like I’ll fuck up in some way—but I can be a positive image to balance his disappearing acts. I pride myself on being the man my parents raised me to be, one who provides peace and security.
