Page 239 of Coach
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
My abs weren’t anything special. I was lean, toned enough to stay in coaching shape, but I didn’t have the sculpted, lumberjack mountain-man aesthetic he carried around like an afterthought.
I chuckled. “Not quite the steel-cut statue you are.”
Before I could say more, his hands were on either side of my face, his mouth on mine.
Hot. Firm. Certain.
I sank into it like gravity didn’t apply anymore.
When he pulled back, his forehead touching mine, his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” I managed.
“You’re perfect.”
“Shane—”
“I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you right now.”
Well, damn, damn,damn.
Every nerve ending in my body fired at once.
My mouth moved, but nothing came out.
I blinked so rapidly he might’ve thought I’d been kidnapped and was blinking out Morse code to my rescuers.
“Stand up,” he said, the gentleness in his voice belied by a command I hadn’t heard from the beast before.
So I did.
His fingers shot to the button on my jeans, and I thought my heart might explode right there, spilling tiny bits of Mateo love all over the couch, my den, and the hunk before me.
His grip was sure. His fingers lithe.
My jeans never stood a chance.
“Shimmy out,” he instructed as his fingers gripped the fabric.
My cock flopped free.
“Free ballin’?” He smirked up.
I tried to suppress a blush—it beamed so bright the neighbors probably saw red through my curtained windows. I looked away.
The warm moisture of his tongue circling the tip of my dick shocked my whole system. My gaze snapped down to find Shane’s hands still tugging my jeans down, while his mouth enveloped the length of me.
My entire length.
Down his throat.
I wobbled and would’ve tipped over had his bear’s paw of a hand not flown to my back to hold me upright. His mouth never stopped moving.
My skin never stopped tingling.
I leaked into him.
