Page 108 of Cherry Picking
Riley Easton is mine.
Tears prickle my eyes, and Riley kisses me as if he knows at this moment what I need is him.
“I talked to Matty,” he says, pulling away and placating the panic in my eyes with another smile. “Laid us to rest. That bit of us that I couldn’t seem to get rid of on my own. I spent some time figuring out what I want, and what I need, and it all came back to the same answer.”
“What’s that?” I brush my nose up the column of his neck, breathing him in, the possibility of his words making my heart beat violently in its cage.
He chuckles, drops his mouth to my ear and kisses the shell. “You. Always you.”
There’s nothing gentle about the way I capture his mouth, flicking inside like a flame in need of being fed. He supplies the soil, the bed for my desire to sprout and grow. His heavy breaths are the gasoline that my matches catch on.
We devour each other.
Claim each other.
Pledge our hearts to one another no matter the obstacles we find in our paths.
This is our fight, and we’ll both take up the arms to conquer it.
EPILOGUE
RILEY
TWO YEARS LATER
Sunlight streams through the open curtains, the muscular frame of my boyfriend outlined by the deep maroon sheet barely covering the dimples above his ass. I’ve been lying here awake for too long, watching him burrow into his pillow and cover it in drool.
Brown hair sticks up in all directions, and it feels like a field of cotton beneath my fingertips. I trail them down the back of his neck, walk them across his shoulder blades, touch each notch of his spine on the descent.
The globes of his ass fit perfectly beneath my palm—one hand per cheek—and it only takes a couple gentle strokes for his hips to wiggle and for a satisfied sigh to leave his sleeping lips.
Parker is back home for spring break, one of his high school buddies spending the week with him. So for the next couple of days while I have Griff by my side, we have the house to ourselves.
I miss him fiercely during the season, but with the Rippers out of the running for the major league Cup, I can steal back some of our lost time.
He rolls onto his back, stretching an arm above his head before settling into a relaxed state of recline. With a new span of real estate open to me, I splay my hand across his abs, drag it up over his chest and cradle his neck until he turns his head.
A rumble starts in his chest, eyelids fighting the hold sleep has on them, but each stroke of my finger on his cheeks raises them higher. Finally, hazel eyes blink open and gaze into mine.
“Don’t stop,” he whispers, arching his neck and gripping my wrist to guide it down his body. Over every inch of sensitive flesh, pebbling under my touch, until we reach the tent in the sheet beneath his hips.
“Want my mouth on you, baby?”
Those eyes close again, hips arching up as I uncover his full, swollen cock. So hard the glistening, purple head pushes past the foreskin. I sink between his legs spread wide, fitting my arms under the backs of his thighs and bringing him closer.
With a deep inhale, I press my nose to his sac, licking along the underside and drawing a ball into my mouth. He whimpers, whines, tangles a hand in my hair to urge me up, and I let go with a lewd pop to drag my tongue up his straining, veiny shaft.
“Riley, please,” he whispers, desperation urgent in the tug his fingertips make on my hair. His cock bounces, searching for my mouth, and I briefly give it to him, wrapping my lips around the side of his shaft and making a wet mess of him. “Oh my god.”
That last loss was brutal for the Rippers, and with it being Griff’s first season off the bench and out of the backup position, he’s taken it hard.
Sounds like he needs me to take it hard with him.
Deep-throating has never been one of my better acts in bed, but when the situation calls for it, I can fit Griff’s cock in theback of my throat for a few snug seconds. Something that makes his hips jump off the bed and his hands shove down on my head hard enough for me to gag.
I breathe slowly and swallow around him, kneading his cheeks with punishing fingers to ground myself.
“Yes,” he gasps out, trying to buck into my grasp, but my hold is iron tight. Hazel eyes flash down to me, and his hands fall away to grip the sheets.
