She finishes the tattoo like nothing just happened, like I didn’t just embarrass myself in every imaginable way. She wrecked me without even taking off her damn clothes.
Next time, she’d better pray I have some self-restraint left.
I’m not coming in my fucking pants again. I’m going to bury myself so deep inside her that she forgets this isn’t fake for me.
She leans back slightly to admire her work, her hips still straddling me, and I don’t know what snaps in me, but I reach up, grip her chin, and tilt her face down toward mine.
“Don’t smirk at me like that, dollface,” I growl, “Unless you want me to flip your pretty little ass over and fuck you on this chair ‘til your legs forget how to work.”
I slide my thumb across her bottom lip, watching it bounce back into place. “You know what you did. You’ve been teasing me since the second you sat down, grinding those hips like you wanted to break me.”
She tilts her head, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I don’t recall doing anything, quarterback,” she says, sweet as poison. “But if your self-control’s that weak... maybe that’s a you problem.”
Her eyes drop to my mouth, then quickly back up to meet my gaze.
“You think I won’t ruin you for anyone else?” I whisper, letting my hand slide to the back of her neck.
Her thighs tighten around me, her breath stuttering.
That perfect composure she always hides behind?
Cracking.
Yeah, maybe I’m crazy for her. Maybe I’ve totally lost it. But I’d let this woman break me over and over just to hear her gasp the way she just did.
“I’m not gonna kiss you again,” I whisper, only she can hear me as I press my forehead to hers. “Not until you beg me to.”
“I don’t beg.”
Fuck. Me.
She leans in just enough for her lips to barely brush mine. Her breath fans over my mouth, teasing, promising.
“But maybe,” she whispers, pulling back with a smile that could end me, “if you ask nicely... I’ll let you try again.”
My entire body goes tense. I’m this close to throwing her down and showing her what asking nicely looks like with my mouth between her thighs.
maverick
. . .
“Hayes!” Coach Mike’s voice pulls me out of my trance. “You better have your ass ready next week, or I’ll bench you so fast your pretty-boy sponsorships won’t know what hit ‘em.”
“Ready, Coach,” I mock, jaw clenched. “Born ready.”
I jog back to the huddle, sweat dripping down my spine, my legs pumping like muscle memory, but my mind?
It’s still stuck on her.
Because how the fuck am I supposed to focus when I spent yesterday losing my damn mind underneath Amelia Hamilton?
Correction.
Underneath Amelia Hamilton, all while she tattooed my chest like it was nothing, as she sat on me like a fucking goddess and acted like she didn’t notice how wrecked I was the entire damn time. I’d made a mess of myself in those compression shorts, and she barely batted an eye, playing coy.
I’m down bad. Like,clinically.
“Yo, Hayes.” JP slaps my helmet as we get into formation. “You glitched out, or are you just thinking about your wife again?”
