Page 84 of Roughing the Player
Chapter 22
Eleanor
TWO WEEKSOF MARRIED LIFE HAVE BEEN, WELL, MAGICAL. There’s no other way to describe it. Brock comes home for dinner most every night, even though the team prefers he eat at the facility. He says he loves my cooking. But he doesn’t fool me. It’s something else he loves.
Family life.
You’d think he’d be bored to tears with our daily routine, but he seems to treasure the moments, even the simple ones, like cleaning up after dinner, and watching television together. Sometimes, Kaylee joins us, but most times she gives us privacy. Good thing because Brock won’t stop kissing me and holding hands. He leaves the more private stuff for the bedroom. And the really wild things to the condo. I never thought I’d enjoy being tied up and spanked. But, God help me, I do.
Tonight, we’re watching one of my favorite cooking shows, and it’s bread week. Before too long, the participants are measuring and mixing ingredients. As they do, the tension builds in him. What is it about a cooking show that turns him on? Leaning into me, he whispers, “I love the way she’s pounding that flour.”
“It’s called kneading.” I correct him.
“The way she digs her fingers into the dough, forces it into submission.” As he speaks, his hand softly strokes my shoulders. When my breath catches, his fingers explore my aching flesh, finding the erotic spots that set my body on fire. When his efforts turn to unbuttoning my blouse, I protest, “Kaylee.”
“She’s in her room.” He nibbles the bare expense of skin he’s exposed and heat streaks down to my pussy.
“Ahhhh. I should tell him we need to take this to our room, but right now I’m loving what he’s doing too much to ask him to stop.
His fingers cup my breast, play with my nipple, and I tip back my head to give him more room. When I do, he leans over to suckle my nipple. As he tastes me, I grow liquid.
“Sweet Ellie,” he breathes over my trembling belly. “You want me to fuck you?”
Oh, God. Yes. But, “Not here.”
He stands, hauls me into his arms, and carries me into our room. When we get there, he takes his time stripping me, stroking me, licking me, until I’m quivering and aching for him.
“You want me, Ellie?”
Bastard. “You know, I do.”
He spreads his arms wide and offers himself to me. “Then get me naked, woman.”
Aaargh. He is the devil. As tall as he is, I have to stand on the bed to get his shirt off. Once his magnificent chest is bared, I climb down and unbutton his jeans, unzip his fly and pull. When the jeans and boxers come off, he kicks them to the side, and I’m left to gawk while he stands there in his glorious masculinity, his cock flying high and proud. Unable to withstand the temptation, I splay my hands across his hips and take him into my mouth.
He groans. “God, Ellie. You’re killing me.”
I don’t care. I want the taste of earthy, randy male in my mouth. He rests his hands on my head and sways back and forth with deep, shallow strokes as I suck, lick the life out of him. I dig my nails into his ass. When he grows even bigger, I know his orgasm is near.
“I’m coming, darling.”
That’s all the warning I get before his heat spurts into my mouth, so much that some spills out to dribble down my chin. Once I’ve licked every bit of his essence, I glance up. The look of ecstasy on his face is something I will treasure forever.
“Get on the bed.” He growls.
Without hesitation, I clamber backwards on the mattress, aiming for the center. But he doesn’t want me there. He grabs my legs and pulls me to the edge. Widening my thighs, his mouth clamps over me and suckles, teases, licks my pussy. I teased him, so now it’s his turn to torture me. As wound up as I am, it takes me no time to orgasm. Only then does he rise and push me deeper into the bed as he rises over me, like the god he is, and in one strong thrust spears me. He’s so big, he takes my breath away. But I wouldn’t have him any other way.
The next morning, I wake up, sore as hell. A hot shower eases some of the aches and pains from our lovemaking. Thankfully, neither Kaylee nor Brock are present as I make my walk of shame. But Mama is. She stands by the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of tea. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Sleep well?” Her knowing smile tells me she knows exactly how I spent my night.
“Yes.” My face flushes. Why, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m fooling around. I’m married to Brock, for heaven’s sake.
Thankfully, she takes pity on me. “You want some coffee? I just made a pot.”
“No, thanks.” Pride drives me to make a quick getaway. “I’ll grab some at work.” I thoroughly regret my decision on the long drive. Coffee would have made the ride easier.
