Page 94 of Blindside Me
I whimper, my body clenching around him as another orgasm tears through me. He doesn’t stop. He keeps pounding into me relentlessly, his cock stretching me wide. I can feel every vein, every pulse of him as he drives deeper.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Take it. Take all of me.”
I’m so wet, so fucking wet, and the sound of our skin slapping together is loud in the room. My arms give out, and I’m face down on the pillow, ass still in the air as he fucks me harder. His hands grab my hips again, pulling me back onto his cock with every thrust.
He’s so big. So full. He keeps hitting that spot.
“Drew,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I can’t—I can’t?—”
“You can,” he growls. “You’re going to come again, Jade. Right fucking now.”
And I do. My body explodes, trembling and tightening around him as he fucks me through it. He groans, deep and guttural, and his thrusts get sloppy, desperate. He’s close.
“Jade,” he grits out, my name breaking on his lips as he thrusts once, twice more, and comes hard, his body shuddering against mine. He collapses forward, pinning me to the bed, his breath hot and ragged in my ear. We lay there, tangled, breathless, and utterly spent.
For a long moment, we don’t move. The only sounds in the room are our uneven breathing and the distant hum of the mini fridge. Drew’s weight on me is reassuring and grounding.
Eventually, he shifts, pressing a kiss to my shoulder before rolling to his side. He doesn’t go far, just far enough to look at me properly. His hand traces lazy patterns along my stomach.
I smile at him, dazed and completely satisfied. Damn if Callie wasn’t right. He does get me dick drunk.
The buzz of my phone on the nightstand breaks my blissfulness.
Drew reaches across me to grab it, glancing at the screen before handing it over. “It’s your uncle.”
My stomach drops as I read the text: “Dinner at one. We need to talk.”
I stiffen immediately. Uncle never asks me to dinner unless it’s something serious. Does he know? Did someone see us together?
“What’s wrong?” Drew asks, rising onto one elbow.
I show him the message.
His jaw tenses. “Maybe we should just tell him.”
I stare at him, wondering if I’ve misheard. “Tell him? Tell my uncle, your team’s head coach, that we’re…”
I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence. That we’re what?
He sits up entirely, the sheet pooling low on his waist. I try not to get distracted by the glow of the lamplight on bare skin.
“That we’re together,” he finishes for me. “Yes.”
Together. The word lands in my chest like a dropped stone.
“What about the team? What about your draft chances?” My voice is thin. “He might bench you. Or worse.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we should wait,” I suggest, sitting up to face him properly. “Just until after the game against my ex. It’s a big one for him.”
He hesitates. I see the war in his eyes. Then he shakes his head.
“No,” he says firmly. “I don’t want to hide us anymore.”
That certainty, more than anything, crumbles any remaining wall I have.
“Then I guess you’ll be joining me for dinner,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.
