Page 104 of Fair Catch
His hands found my hips, and I kissed him in the way I’d dreamed of so many times over the past agonizing month as I let him lift and position me over him. His crown pressed inside me, both of us gasping as I slowly, inch by inch, lowered down to take him all the way.
I rolled my body, Zeke catching my nipple in his mouth as I glided back down and took him deeper. Every touch was soft and carefully placed, every new thrust sending both of us closer to the edge. We didn’t hurry, didn’t chase that fire, but merely teased it, slowing even more before either of us could fully succumb.
It felt like hours, both of us soaking up every earth-shattering rock of pleasure one position had to offer before switching to a new one. My muscles protested with every movement by the time we both released, and we collapsed into the sheets in a heap of damp limbs, holding onto each other despite the heat radiating off our bodies.
When our breaths had evened, Zeke brushed my hair back, his eyes searching mine.
“On the field,” he whispered. “Before the kick. I thought… I thought I saw you mouth—”
“I love you?” I finished for him. “I did.”
He let out a sigh that sounded almost painful, wincing and shaking his head as he dropped his forehead to mine.
“I do, Zeke,” I whispered, holding him tight. “I love you.”
His arms wrapped around me even more, crushing me to him as his lips captured mine. He kissed me long and sweet, and then his words kissed my soul.
“I love you, too.”
And though I knew there would be hell to face, that the road we walked would be filled with people wishing for us to fail, and that there would be even tougher days ahead, I felt safer in his arms that night than I had in my entire life.
No matter what came our way, I knew one thing for sure.
We’d fight it.
Together.
And just like tonight…
We’d win.
The End
Eight Months Later
Giana
“You’re insane.”
“Insanely genius,” Clay argued, resting his elbows on the table between us as he leaned toward me. It was almost comical, how massive his arms were compared to the tiny table, which wobbled precariously on its thin legs as it took his weight.
“I… it’s just… absurd.”
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, cold fingertips brushing my hot cheeks as I uncrossed my legs just to cross them the other way. I then crossed my arms over my chest, all body language pointing to how uncomfortable I was with this conversation and the proposal in it.
I was here to coach Clay Johnson how to be better with the media after his breakup — which had thus far been agonizing not only for him, but for the entire team.
I was not here for him to tease me about my crush on Shawn Stetson, or to con me into some ridiculous fake relationship to get his attention.
“Look, G,” Clay said.
“Giana,” I corrected.
“I’m a guy, and as a guy, I know what guys want. At least — most, straight, sane guys. And I’m telling you. That guy?” He pointed a finger at where Shawn was playing his set on stage at the little coffee shop we were at. “He wants a woman of mystery, one who can be his muse, who will be a little hard to get, a little out of his league.”
My eyes nearly bulged out of my skull before I covered Clay’s gargantuan finger with both my hands and shoved it down, quickly glancing at Shawn to make sure he hadn’t seen.
“I can have him eating out of the palm of your hand by Thanksgiving.”
“He barely knows I exist,” I said, voice barely a whisper.
“Another thing I can help with,” he said, sweeping a large hand over himself. “Do you think anyone on this campus could ignore the girl who has Clay Johnson’s attention?”
I rolled my eyes at the cocky insinuation, but couldn’t argue against his point.
It was true.
That massive hunk of muscle and those piercing green eyes had been off the market since Clay walked onto North Boston University’s campus — much to every girl’s dismay. And while he’d been a miserable prick since he and Maliyah broke up, the groupies that followed the team around like flies were begging for even a taste of his affection.
Still…
“He’s a musician,” I pointed out. “He probably couldn’t care less about football.”
Just then, Shawn finished the song he’d been playing, and after strumming his guitar a few times, he spoke right into the mic and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a celebrity here with us tonight. Clay Johnson, NBU’s best safety and a shoe in for the NFL. Make sure to get your autographs while you can.”
Clay held up a hand in a humble wave, and then pointed a seductive smirk and wink at the girls who freaked out and turned his way, all quietly whispering to their friends and nudging one another like they were picking straws over who would try to talk to him first.
