Page 92 of Hometown Touchdown
She climbs into bed without a word, and the second she’s close enough, she melts into me. Presses her cheek to my chest. Wraps an arm around my stomach like she’s staking a claim.
Then her hand slides lower.
She wraps her fingers around me—possessive, slow—and my hips twitch, a sharp exhale dragging from my lungs. My whole body answers her touch like it never forgot. Like it’s been waiting.
“Shit, Brynn—easy. I’m not twenty anymore. I need a minute.”
“I’m not trying for round two, coach,” she says, smug against my chest. “I just want to hold it.”
“Hold it?”
She nods, eyes already drifting shut. “It’s mine. I’m claiming it.”
I chuckle, brushing a hand down her back. “Damn right, baby girl. Every inch of me is yours.”
Her lips curve against my skin, voice fading. “Good. I like my things accounted for.”
The next morning is slower. Softer. Music plays from the speaker in the kitchen—Al Green, Leon Bridges are definitely chosen to remind me she wrecked me and she’s smug about it.
I’m naked, she’s wrapped in a sheet, wandering the kitchen like we own it together. She’s at the counter, munching on blueberries straight from the container. I’m leaning against the stove, sipping coffee and watching her like I’ve got nothing better to do than memorize the curve of her spine and the shape of her smile.
She turns around slowly, bare feet padding softly across the hardwood, holding up a blueberry between her fingers like a peace offering.
“Want one?”
I raise a brow, sipping my coffee with zero shame. “I want about five things right now, and only one of them is food-related.”
She grins and tosses the berry at me. I catch it mid-air in my mouth, chew with exaggerated confidence, and wink.
“Show off,” she mutters, trying not to smile.
“Strip tease bandit,” I counter. “You knew exactly what you were doing last night, bringing my jacket. That was a premeditated assault on my sanity.”
She turns toward me with a look that should be registered as a lethal weapon.
“I think you’re still losing it,” she teases, lips slick and smug.
I set my mug down with exaggerated care. “Confirmed.”
Before she can blink, I lift her by the waist and set her down on the kitchen island, her laughter bubbling up as I step between her legs. The sheet is still loosely wrapped around her body. I untangle it slowly, letting it fall behind her, revealing the gorgeous chaos of her bare skin, still flushed from last night.
I trail kisses from her collarbone down to the valley between her breasts. I bring a finger to her mouth and she opens, wetting it before I slide it between her thighs, fingers gliding through her warmth. She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders as I dip one finger slowly inside her.
“Fuck,” I breathe against her throat. “Do you know how fucking hot it is knowing my cum is still inside this tight little pussy?”
Her breath catches, head falling back, chest rising with each inhale. I slide in a second finger, curling just right, and start to thrust slow and deep, feeling her clench around me.
Her hips lift to meet my rhythm, one hand tangling in my hair as her lips part in a moan.
“Maybe,” she whispers, eyes fluttering, “you should fill me again, Coach.”
Christ.
“Fuck, Brynn. Your mouth is going to be the death of me.”
I crush my mouth to hers, one hand gripping her waist, the other still working between her thighs. Her tongue tangles with mine, her moans vibrating into my mouth. It’s hot, messy, perfect.
And then—
