Page 13 of Overtime with Orion
“Defensive strategies.” I nipped at her earlobe. “Knowing when to hold your ground and when to…surrender.”
She laughed, the sound that had made my heart race for a decade. “I don’t think that’s real football terminology, Coach.”
“Maybe not. But it’s damn effective.”
Down the hall, I could hear the soft sounds of our house settling into evening quiet. Our daughters Tatum, seven, and Phoebe, five, had been asleep for an hour, exhausted from a day of playing in the backyard and helping Larkin organize the library’s new children’s section. Our life had a rhythm now, a steady beat of school days and bedtime stories, football practice and library events, family dinners and stolen moments like this one.
My mouth found hers, swallowing her laugh in a kiss that tasted of mint toothpaste and the red wine we’d shared after putting the girls to bed. It started slow—a familiar, comfortable exploration—but the embers between us caught quickly, as they always did. A decade together, and the spark was still a live wire.
I broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and looked down at her. Her hair was fanned out across our pillow, her eyes dark with desire.
“Then there’s the most important position of all,” I whispered, my voice rough. “The victory formation.”
I shifted my hips, the rough denim of my jeans a stark contrast to the flimsy knit of her pants as I settled more firmly between her legs. A soft gasp escaped her lips.
“And what does that entail?” she breathed, her hands sliding down my back to grip the fabric of my old jersey, the number fourteen stretched tight across my shoulders.
“It entails…” I murmured, my lips tracing a path down her neck to the sensitive hollow of her throat. “...taking complete control of the field.” My hands slid from her waist to the hem of her T-shirt, my thumbs stroking the warm skin of her stomach.She arched into my touch. “Eliminating all defensive threats.” I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pants. “And securing the win.”
In one slow, deliberate motion, I pulled the soft fabric down her legs. The air left her lungs in a quiet, shuddering sigh. I tossed the pants aside, my gaze locked on the beautiful, naked length of her. No underwear, just as I’d hoped.
“So this is the two-minute drill,” she whispered, her legs falling open in a silent, breathtaking invitation.
“No,” I corrected, my voice a low growl as I kissed my way up the inside of her thigh. Her skin was like silk. “This is the game-winning drive. And we’re going to take our time.”
I reached her center, and she was already wet, hot, and ready for me. The scent of her, uniquely Larkin, drove me wild.
I didn’t hesitate. I lowered my mouth to her and licked a slow, firm line from her entrance to her clit.
Her back bowed off the bed, a choked cry catching in her throat. Her hands flew to my head, not pushing me away, but tangling in my hair, holding me closer.
“Orion,” she gasped, her hips lifting off the mattress.
“Quiet, baby,” I whispered against her, the vibration making her shudder. “We don’t want to alert the opposition.”
I settled in, my tongue and lips working a rhythm I knew as well as any playbook. This was my favorite kind of practice. I licked and suckled, responding to every gasp, every twitch, every silent plea of her body. Her breaths came in ragged pants, her thighs trembling against my ears. I slid a finger inside her, then another, curling them just so, and felt her inner muscles clench around me. She was close.
I lifted my head for a moment, wanting to see her. I pushed her T-shirt up, exposing her beautiful breasts to the dim light. Her nipples were tight peaks, and I took one in my mouth,swirling my tongue around it as my fingers continued their relentless rhythm below.
“Orion, I’m… I can’t…” she begged, her voice a broken whisper.
“Yes, you can,” I urged, my mouth returning to her core.
A soundless scream tore through her as she came, her body seizing, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets. I gentled my touch, drawing out her climax until the last tremor subsided and she collapsed, boneless and breathless, beneath me.
I kissed my way back up her body, tasting her on my lips. Her eyes were hazy with satisfaction as she looked up at me.
Her hands went to the buckle of my belt. “Your turn, Coach.”
I stood up just long enough to shuck my jeans and boxer briefs, my erection springing free. But when my hands went to the hem of my jersey, to pull it over my head, her voice stopped me.
“No,” she said, her voice still throaty from her orgasm. “Leave it on.”
I paused, my eyebrows raising in a question.
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “I like fucking the football coach.”
A groan rumbled in my chest. I moved over her again, settling between her legs, the soft, worn fabric of the jersey brushing against her sensitive skin. The head of my cock nudged at her entrance, slick with her release and my own anticipation.
