Page 158 of Only in Your Dreams

But it lets me fuck her rougher, and the absolute fucking ecstasy weaving its way through my body almost makes up for it. With her hips at this angle, I can tell I’m hitting her good, in the right place. She’s squeezing around me so fucking hard I’m about a second away from exploding. After a while I need to focus elsewhere, because the sight of her ass in the air, my cock disappearing inside her, it’s just too fucking much.

“I’m almost there,” I say through clenched teeth. It’s taking everything I have not to go off. “Come with me.”

“I’m close,” she says into the pillow. “Just wait—”

Mel’s muffled sounds become labored, relentless, when I wrap an arm around her to play with her clit. Some garbled syllables, some that sound like my name. Some that sound praising and others more like a threat.

“Now, Melody,” I tell her. “Come with me. Come with me or the second I fill this tight pussy with my cum, I’m bending you over the edge of this fucking bed—” she looks over her shoulder, eyes go wide, eager at the words, “spanking that ass so hard you’ll never forget that when I ask you to come—” she gasps, nods frantically, “I fucking mean it, Mel. Now, come for me. Come on my cock, scream my fucking name—”

“Fuck. Z—”

Yes.

I push her face into the pillow to drown out her cries, and she clenches everywhere, spasms violently. I shove my hips forward, sinking myself inside her as far as her pussy allows. Go off like a motherfucking bomb, biting her shoulder to hold back my own sounds.

“If that sex was good luck,” she pants, surfacing from her pillow a few blissful minutes later. “Then I’ve got this interview in the bag.”

* * *

“You’re going to ace this,” I tell her between kisses. “You’re smart and competent. You know football better than half my coaching staff, you’re funny, and you’re really, really pretty—”

Melody draws back, huffing out a laugh. “I hope those last ones don’t factor into a job interview.”

“Oh. I forgot I wasn’t just listing things I love about you.”

She beams at me, and I don’t know what I expected from her this afternoon, but she’s already made me so damn proud.

I took another day off work to make a day of it in the city with her. She was nervous on our three-hour drive in, sure. But she got through my prep questions with quiet confidence. Now, her shoulders are squared and self-assured, and it’s such a far cry from the woman I met again a couple of months ago, I want to lift her up and squeeze her to me. Twirl her around in this busy parking lot outside the Knights’ football stadium. But she’s about to land a job here—I’m refusing to think about the alternative—and I don’t want to embarrass her in front of her future colleagues.

“Alright, Clover. Go kick ass.” With a last kiss, she turns, and I can’t resist giving her a little tap on the ass as she walks away, basking in her parting scowl.

I make sure she gets all the way across the parking lot and into the building before letting the smile slip off my face.

Because she’s about to get this job, and then she’ll find an apartment. And soon she’ll be living hours away from me. Creating for herself the life she’s always wanted, out from under the thumb of the guy who ruined her first venture into the city.

I’m excited for her. I’m desperate for her to have everything she wants.

I’m fucking devastated for myself.

Three hours away is nothing, I tell myself for the thousandth time since she landed this interview.There are weekends, and video calls, and you can drive back and forth on weeknights as much as she wants you to.

But I couldn’t, could I? Not with the way the team practices every night of the week. And with our games fluctuating between Fridays and Saturdays, that leaves… Sunday. One day a week.

It’s soul crushing.

I’m blowing out a long breath, about to get back into my truck, when I hear a voice call my name. I almost ignore it. It’s not likeZacis unique as far as names go. But then I spot a man squinting in my direction, clad in a windbreaker emblazoned with the Knights logo.

He takes a few tentative steps forward before I realize I’m looking at Luke Bailey, the Knights’ head coach. He’s bearded, salt-and-pepper-haired, probably a good thirty years older than me. He’s everything I would have wanted to have as a coach while I was playing, and everything I hope to be as one now myself. Good-natured but tough. Commands the respect of his team, and everyone else in the league.

“Luke, hey,” I say awkwardly, suddenly aware of how questionable my presence is. “I swear I’m not here as a spy.”

“That’s exactly what a spy would say,” he says with a chuckle, reaching me at last. He strips the hat off his head as he offers me a hand to shake. “What brings you here?”

“Ah…”

Fuck. Mel and I had discussed that it was probably the right thing to do to disclose her connection to me as a possible conflict of interest. But I really wasn’t prepared to speak about this myself today.

I stick my hands in my pockets. “My girlfriend’s in there interviewing for a job. I swear she’s not a spy, either.”

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