“It hurts.” It does, but in the best way possible.
“I know. I think it’s your cervix. I’ve never felt anything so tight in all my life. Not even your pretty pink asshole.” How I can blush after everything we’ve done is a mystery to me. He has done things to my body I’ve only ever read about. The places he’s had his mouth would make a Vegas hooker blush.
Andres’ hand teases my nipple once more then glides down my body to my lower tummy. He pushes against it and growls appreciatively. “Fuck, I can feel my cock. Jesus Christ!” My hips are slammed down to the bed, he shifts behind me, and I scream as he pile drives into me. He’s like an animal, feral and raw and I’m here for it all.
“Andres! I’m—YES!” I convulse beneath him violently. I think I black out for a few seconds or an hour, who the fuck knows. All I know is that I feel swollen and battered and so fucking blissed out. He’s lying on top of me, all of his delicious muscular weight holding me down as I try to fly. He’s cooing in my ear, rubbing all over my body, his cock twitching inside my swollen channel, filling me with his seed.
I’m a dirty girl. And I love it!
And that dicknotizing fuckery is why I must be some kind of special idiot. My hands shake, my stomach churns, and I’m about 20 seconds from bolting. Andres tightens his arm around my waist, leaning down to whisper against the top of my head, “I’ve got you.”
I glance up at him with a frown. “Yougotme into this fucking mess.”
He has the balls to fucking laugh. His eyes dance in the low lighting of the ballroom. “You looking fucking edible, Jenna. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Fuckin’ hell.
I was lying there, sexed out of my mind when he starts massaging my arms and legs, kissing all up on me all sweetly. Promises of wine and a makeover worthy ofPretty Woman, minus the prostitution. How could I have let myself be talked into this? The man is too potent for his own good and mine. Our friends now, our family, and it’s like I gave him an inch, and he gave 9 and then took a fucking mile.
Ravishing gown that accentuates every feminine dip and curve of my body. Backless. Hair styled. Manicure and pedicure. Waxed and polished. Dammit, I feel like a pretty princess! Curse my innate girliness!
“The earliest known evidence of ‘high heels’ is around 3500 BC in Egypt. But it wasn’t until around the 10thcentury that higher heels became almost standard for use in horseback riding. Heels were originally designed for men as a status symbol.”
“I ain’t wearing any heels.”
I snicker at Andres’ obvious distaste. “Well, you’re 6’5”, so you don’t really need them. And I don’t think you ride horses very often.”
He pins me with a dark look. “No, but I do ride a certain filly as often as I can.”
“You are a butthead.” I whisper at him indignantly. A charity event is no place for him to say such things to me. Especiallysince it will be hours before he can do anything about the throbbing between my legs.
I swallow hard, my nerves like hatchet-wielding butterflies in my stomach, my eyes darting around the large open room. Pittsburgh’sSteel Bridgescharity gala is a big fucking deal. Past teammates, current players, politicians, celebrities, other athletes. My eyes land on a familiar head of blonde hair and bile rises up my throat. I put a hand to my mouth, as if that will stem the tide of vomit, and curse under my breath.
“Jenna?” Andres, ever in tune with me, pulls me tighter to the side of his body. He’s tense, his head on a swivel, looking for any perceived threat. If I wasn’t about to spew all over my expensive shoes and his, I’d find it funny and charming.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine.” He carefully guides me to the side, blocking me from everyone’s view. His dark brows slanting harshly in concern.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s stupid…my ex is here. I just…I haven’t seen him in person in years.” About 7 of them, actually. I could have gone a lifetime more without laying eyes on Nick Bakke in the flesh.
I don’t love him; I’m not hung up on him. He’s just a grade A dick.
Andres casually looks over his shoulder, his eyes following my line of sight. He smirks. Not the reaction I was expecting. “Your ex is Nick Bakke?” When he starts laughing, I smack him in the chest. He quickly grabs my palm and holds it over his heart.
“It’s not funny.”
“It is. Jenna, how much do you know about Nick Bakke’s career?”
“Almost nothing. I have tried to avoid his name as much as I can.”
Andres’ eyes soften and he presses closer to me, my back against the cool marble tile of the wall. “He’s been dropped from three teams since he was drafted. He’s currently trying to find another team to take him because he’s about to get dropped for the fourth time. He’s got his sights on Pittsburgh, but none of us are stupid enough to take him on.” My eyes widen with every word out of his sinful mouth. “He parties too much, been divorced twice, steep decline in performance, and three paternity suits.”
“Really?” I whisper, my little heart nearly pounding right out of my chest at the thought that Karma really does exist.
“Yeah, baby. You dodged a fucking bullet.”
“Oh.” I let all that information sink in for a moment, then grab Andres’ hand and move around him, tugging him with me. “Well, then, shall we go say hello?” His booming laughter follows me across the ballroom, his grip solid. He’s got me.
