I want a bite ofallof her.
I shake my head at the cookie piece she’s offering me with her fingers. It’s peanut butter, but it has melted chocolate chips in it too. It was fresh enough when I bought it that the chocolate is barely starting to congeal, and it looks bloody delicious.
She stares me dead in the eye while she eats it herself. She chews, swallows, licks her lips, and drops her voice as she says, “Want to know how it tastes now?”
Fuck me.
Fuck me inside out and upside down and in all the ways a man can be fucked.
Yes.
Yes, I want to know how it tastes now.
I have zero self-control as I wrap a hand around her neck and pull her in close to sample her mouth. Her lips. Her tongue. The cookie flavor lingering with her inherent taste.
Is there such a thing as too much blood flow to a man’s dick?
Mine’s had enough.
But I can’t get enough of Goldie.
She wraps an arm around my neck. Something plops to the floor, and then her other arm is looped under my armpit and around my back, her mouth open to me, her tongue dancing with mine.
I don’t know where her breath ends and mine begins.
All I know is that I need to kiss her more than I need air. More than I need food. More than I need chocolate and cookies and hot sauce.
More than I need rugby.
She makes it okay for me to be me in a way that rugby, that my father, that fans and ex-wives and coaches never have.
She sees me, she accepts me, and shelikesme.
It’s insanity.
It’ll pass.
Maybe.
She pulls me down to the floor, her kisses as desperate and sloppy as mine. I settle between her thighs, kneading her neck and one ass cheek, still fully dressed.
Trapped inside my fucking jeans.
Do I have a condom?
I don’t know if I have a condom in my wallet.
Shit.
Fuck.
I don’t.I fucking don’t.
Goldie makes a desperate noise and pulls back. “We should not?—”
“Agreed.”
“It’s—”
