Page 5 of Heartbreaker
“Shit, just look at you.” John sighs, staring down at my figure, and my breath hitches when the head of his cock brushes against my center. My eyes snap shut when he rubs against my clit. “So wet, soneedy. Just for me. Look at me, Sweetheart.”
I meet his gaze, and he leans forward to capture my lips as he pushes inside me. I moan against his mouth, adjusting to the sudden fullness of him. He rocks forward, and I realize he’s not even fully inside yet. Holy shit, there’s no way he’ll fit.
“You can take it, Sav,” he says with such certainty that it quells some of my nerves. “It’ll fit, I promise.”
I nod fervently, still not sure if I believe it.
“Relax, baby. I got you,” he whispers, and rocks his hips, sliding in further inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside me. There’s a moment of stillness when he lets me adjust before he begins to move again. He pulls out almost completely and pushes back in, filling me to the hilt at a delectably slow pace. Soft moans of his own fill the space between us, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve heard. Rough hands grip the flesh of my thigh, hitching it higher on his side, and he begins to roll his hips a little faster. “Fuck,” he hisses, looking down where our bodies are connected as one. He watches as he slams in and out of me, slick arousal coating his cock every time. “You’re so fucking wet, so warm…You feel so good, baby.”
My head falls back against the mattress, eyes shut, listening to the chorus of sounds that fill the room—sounds of wet skin mixed with soft moans of pleasure—as pure ecstasy fills my veins. The unrestrained sounds that fall from his lips—sounds that he’s makingforme,becauseof me—only beg the coil deep in my core to tighten further.
“You take me so fucking good, Sav. Like you were made for me.” The words pull a whimper from me. Neither of my exes was ever very vocal in the bedroom, and truth be told, neither was I, but this open dialogue, hearing these words of praise…I never realized it’s something I’d been missing in these intimate moments before. His forehead falls against mine, but his fingers still dig into the skin of my thigh with bruising force.
My nails rake down his forearms and his back, digging into the flesh. I grasp for anything I can hold on to as he rolls into me. His lips find the small space between my neck and collarbone again, and my fingers trail down between us, circling my swollen clit. His name comes out of me in a strangled cry as the waves of ecstasy crest and my body seizes beneath him in what might be the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever experienced.
“Don’t you dare stop,” he whispers in my ear when I try to release the swollen bundle of nerves. “Keep going.”
Whimpering, I force my hand back between us, continuing to move my fingers in slow circles around my clit as I ride out the waves of my orgasm. With only a few pumps, John groans as he comes, and I can feel the warmth of his cum inside me. The sensation is almost too intense, but he holds me in place so I can’t writhe away from him as he finishes, continuing to fuck me through his orgasm. We had been so caught up in the moment, I hadn’t even thought to ask him if he had a condom, and right now I can’t bring myself to care…
His lips find mine in a sweet kiss. I relish in the soft tickle of his breath as he takes his time, exploring my mouth, our tongues moving in a languid dance. No pressure, no rush, just enjoying being tangled in each other. Gently, he pulls out of me, dropping onto his back and pulling me into his side. Eyes closed, he takes three slow, deep breaths, letting his chest rise and fall with each one. His fingers trace along the center of my back, sending a shiver down my spine.
My thumb skates across his jaw and his lips before a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. There’s still a slight red tint to them from my lipstick. When I look up, I meet his soft gaze, and he smiles. “What do you think? Is this my color?”
“Oh, definitely.” I laugh, mirroring the soft rumble in his chest beneath me.
This was supposed to be a one-time thing, yet it feels the opposite. Every passing moment I’m in his arms, it feels like it’s only just the beginning of something bigger.
One of the hardest things about being a professional cheerleader is the schedule. Sure, I had done what I set my sights on from the first time I picked up a pair of pom-poms. I made it to the top, becoming a cheerleader for one of the most well-known, most sought-after squads in the league, but the more time that passes, I find myself longing for something…more. Something different. Cheerleading isn’t the only thing I’ve been questioning in the last few months. I’ve contemplated picking a new major and a new fallback career—sports medicine was never what I wanted to do, anyway, even if it made sense. When the time comes to retire from performing, I wanted the option to stay involved in the cheer world, but now, I don’t think that’s what I want to do anymore. Or maybe I’m just a little more over it than normal because today is Thanksgiving, and where am I? Not at home.
The Wildcats are scheduled to play Knoxville in a home game, which means cheerleader attendance ismandatory.
No exceptions.
Cassandra is home for Thanksgiving, and Kingsley is spending time with her family, who made the trip from Oklahoma because she couldn’t. With two hours before I have to leave for the stadium, I have plenty of time on my hands, and I should probably go for a run, but lying in bed and watching one of those classic black and white movies with Audrey Hepburn sounds better. It’s a holiday, after all. I deserve this.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen most of these classics. Growing up, my mother watched them all the time. Her father was from Chile and spoke virtually no English when he moved to the States as a twenty-something with a dream and three months’ worth of rent. He fell in love with a young college student who lived in the same co-op building, and they married a year later. She helped him learn English by showing him movies, and they continued watching them well after he learned the language. Their shared love for those movies was passed down to my mother, who shared them with us. Movies likeRoman Holidaybring a sense of comfort when I need it most, like when I’m away from home on the holidays.
Gregory Peck’s character smiles on screen, taunting the young Princess Ann for her new haircut. I mouth the words of her response with her: “What would they say if they knew I spent the night in your room?” The words strike a chord in me, bringing the image of a man I’ve been trying to forget to the forefront of my mind. It’s been at least three months, almost four, since we parted ways outside of The Resort, and I still think about that night and the next morning more than I’d care to admit…
Waking up in a strong embrace was a good indication that the night before was far from a dream, as if the three times we’d found ourselves tangled in the sheets weren’t reality enough. I buried myself further into the plush mattress and his side, unable to force myself out of bed. His embrace tightened before his fingers traced up and down my side. Neither of us said anything, lying in the stillness for a few more minutes before we’d have to get up and face reality.
It was the opposite of everything I’d ever been told about a one-night stand, at least from the perspective of Cassandra and my brothers. I had every intention of leaving that night. Calling a cab and going home after we were done, because sleeping over was a big no-no in this situation, right? Except I couldn’t bring myself to leave, couldn’t force myself out the door, and he didn’t seem to mind. That night was the first and only time I’ve done something like that…but I’d be happy to take that sentiment back if it came to getting lost in the sheets with John again. My pulse quickens just thinking about that morning…
“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” John had mumbled against my hair. Normally, I’d cringe at the use of that particular pet name—it had always seemed superficial, lazy even—but when he said it, a warmth spread through me. It moved down my spine and spread like a wildfire across the network of nerves beneath my skin. “What time is it?”
Pushing up from his chest, I glanced at the clock. “Seven.”
“Fuck.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’m sorry to say this, but I have to go,” John said before he sat up and pulled my mouth to his for a series of quick kisses. The last one lingered, warm and soft as he plied my mouth open. His tongue danced against mine, stroking it in an eager embrace. I couldn’t contain the soft whimper when he parted from me, earning a soft chuckle in reply. “Trust me, I’d much rather stay here and find all the ways to make you squirm.”
The words made my cheeks warm, and I was certain he could see the blush growing on my skin by the way he smirked. But he wasn’t wrong…I needed to leave, too.
“Technically, so do I. Duty calls at the coffee shop before rehearsal.”
Probably shouldn’t have said that. The man obviously had an important job—a career—one where they put him in nice hotels and he’s friendly with the suits. He doesn’t want to know that the girl he brought home is the same one who will probably be serving him coffee later on.
You’re notjusta barista, I thought.Being a professional cheerleader is a career, too.
“Rehearsal?” John asked, pulling on a pair of gym shorts.
