“Sounds like you’ve got that script memorized. Where should I drop you?” I ask as I turn onto his street.
“Take that spot out front next to Cam’s truck.”
I pull into the empty spot a few feet from his front door. I hope he’ll leave quickly, because I don’t like the empty feeling inside me, and if I want to get rid of it, I need him gone. He unbuckles his seat belt but makes no move to get out of the car.
“So if you won’t tell me there’s nothing to worry about, what will you tell me?”
I stare at the steering wheel. “I don’t know how the NFL works, Reeve. I wouldn’t know what to tell you.”
“Not about the NFL.”
“Then what?”
“What you’re thinking about me. Right now.”
I look at him. He’s so achingly handsome, so strong and brimming with confidence and potential. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of what I want from him: I want him to be mine. “I’ve never even seen you with a football in your hand. If you never pick one up again, it wouldn’t change a thing about how I see you.”
His lips pout slightly, something he does when he’s thinking hard. I wonder how many times I’ve watched him to recognize this tiny cue. “You’d be the only one,” he says after a moment.
“Maybe you only need one.”
He nods slowly, his eyes locked on mine. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Maybe.”
That’s all he has to do—speak to me in that soft voice, look at me with that intensity in his eyes—and it all shifts. I don’t want him to go. He leans toward me, still locked in my gaze. My breath catches, ready for his kiss, but it’s the keys in the ignition he reaches for. He shuts off the engine and slides the keys out, then wraps my fingers around them. I don’t think I’ve blinked once.
“Don’t go home yet,” he says. “Stay with me a little longer.”
My heart thumps inside my chest, his words so sweet and pleading and so unlike the Reeve he shows to the world. It’s exactly what has me so addicted to him—this soft, complicated, vulnerable side and that soft, beautiful gaze clashing with his brutally cocky exterior.
We go inside his house without another word, his hand around mine, leading me. Just inside the front door, he pushes it closed and traps me against it with the weight of his body and the press of his lips. His hands trail up my sides, up my arms, pinning my hands to the door. A shiver rocks me, and mynipples stiffen. His kiss feels like a thousand pent-up questions being released against my lips.
I want to wrap my legs around him right here, but already his fingers are moving back down my wrists, my elbows, my shoulders, leaving a trail of goose bumps. Then he touches my underarm just so, hitting my ticklish spot. I laugh, breaking the kiss and sending my purse clattering to the floor. Reeve chuckles.
“Shh,” he whispers in my ear and nods toward the stairs, beyond which lies Cam’s bedroom. The feel of his warm breath on my skin is everything. “You’re about to get me in trouble.”
“I won’t tell on you,” I promise.
He grabs my purse and guides me upstairs to his bedroom. Everything about it seems simultaneously right and wrong, surprising yet inevitable. My mind spins. Thoughts and feelings crisscross and change direction, each a notion too fleeting to take root. My only certainty is that I want to be where he is.
The instant his bedroom door closes behind us, it’s on. Everything is lips and teeth, pulled hair and greedy hands. I’m once again pinned to his door under the weight of his body and his savage kiss, but there’s no pain. Not even when he kisses me so hard I taste blood. My shirt is already gone. When did that happen? The air is thick with heat and our mingled scents, suffocating in the sweetest way.
He pulls off his shirt and folds his arms around me to kiss me again. The feel of his bare skin on mine is divine. My mind jumps to the night I knocked on his door and found him shirtless, desperately jealous that he might have a girl in his bed. And here I am on the other side of that door, and Reeve is shirtless again, but now he’s mine.
He grips my ass and pulls me against his erection, but our jeans are a frustrating wall until I undo his belt and unzip his jeans. I watch him slide them down along with his boxers,knowing I’m going to replay this exact image again and again, until he’s completely naked in front of me. Seeing his cock sends a tiny tremble through me. It’s thick and long, absolutely perfect, like all of him. His lips close over mine again, but I break the kiss, hungry to drink in the sight of his taut, muscled body. His frustration is palpable when I pull back, but he lets me do what I want, leaning his head against mine and watching my fingers glide over the contours of his shoulders and chest and stomach. I know he’s stood like this in front of countless girls, but it doesn’t matter. His body was meant only for me.
He exhales through his teeth, like he’s in pain. “Jade,” he grunts.
I glance up and find he’s not watching my fingers any longer; he’s watching me. In this moment, when he looks at me with those eyes, I can believe I’m the only woman he’s ever wanted to touch him like this. “Yes?” I whisper.
“You’re not going to make me wait, are you?”
“Wait for what?”
“Wait for you to put your hands on me. To see what your pretty little fingers look like wrapped around my cock.”
His gritty voice plays through my head, and I can’t resist kissing him again. “I was going to. But then you went and said those words, and now it’s all I can think about.”
I wrap my fist around his cock, taking in its pulsing hotness, the hardness of his shaft against the impossible softness of its velvety head. Achingly slowly, he begins to move his hips, fucking into my fist. It’s a tease—he’s barely moving—but which one of us is he teasing? The sight of him in my fingers makes my breath catch. He brushes my hair from my face, watching me as I watch our bodies.
