"I want to feel you come again," he pants. "Give it to me, Serena. Let go." He pushes his thumb inside me, stretching me around it.
The sensation sends me over the edge.
I shatter, my body convulsing so hard that every muscle locks up. I scream his name so loud my voice cracks. It feels like I'm falling, exploding, and burning alive. And then, as the aftershocks roll through me, I feel him jerk and pulse inside me, filling me up until I'm a mess.
He doesn't stop moving, not even when the pleasure gets to be too much, and my whole body shakes. He rides it out with me, his arms around my waist, his mouth at my shoulder, muffling his own moans. Every damn one is my name, said like it's the only word he remembers.
When I finally come back to earth, I realize I'm still on top of him, his cock buried inside me, his arms around me like he thinks I might disappear if he loosens his grip even an inch.
He buries his face in my neck, kissing me there. "Goddamn, baby," he breathes, his voice so sweet, so reverent, it hurts in the best way possible. "Goddamn."
I don't remember falling asleep, but I wake up with the taste of Austin still on my tongue and the ache he left behind everywhere else. His arm is banded across my waist, his chest pressed to my back, his leg thrown over mine like he's afraid I'll make a run for it.
My bedroom is dim and quiet, light just beginning to leak in around the edges of the curtains. I lay still for a while, waiting for panic or regret to set in, but nothing comes. I just feel…good. Content. Wrecked in all the right ways.
I like the weight of him against me. I like the way my body is bruised and marked, the ache between my thighs a sweet reminder of how thoroughly he ruined me over and over last night. I like everything that happened between us.
His hand flexes on my belly, his palm so wide that I feel it everywhere at once, and I realize he's awake. His lips brush the top of my shoulder, and I shiver.
"Morning," he rumbles, his voice gravelly.
"Morning," I whisper back.
He tightens his hold, rolling me a little so he can nuzzle the back of my neck. "Come to my game tomorrow," he whispers.
I freeze. "What?"
He props himself up on his elbow, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Come to my game," he murmurs, those impossible green eyes searching my face. "I want you there."
"You really want me there?" I ask, trying not to sound as giddy as I feel. Or as nervous. If I go to his game, the press is going to lose their minds. But…I don't really care. I want to go. Part of me—some wild, unrecognizable part—wants to be his.
God help me. He really is ruining me.
"Fuck yeah, I do."
I stare at him, searching for the catch, but his gaze is so open, so intent, that I can't find even a hint of a joke.
"Okay," I whisper, my heart pounding wildly.
He groans, kissing me so hard that I forget my own name for a second. When he finally lets up, he grins down at me, then throws the covers back and sits up, gloriously naked, his cock already rock hard.
"Leaving you alone in that bed is a goddamn travesty, princess," he mutters as he stands, dragging his gaze over me like he wants to crawl back in and fuck me all over again.
I stretch languidly, still deliciously sore, and smirk at him. "Who said you had to leave?"
He growls, actually growls, as I spread my legs just enough to tease him. His gaze zeroes in on my pussy, and he mutters a curse before slamming his eyes shut and scrubbing both hands over his face.
"Practice," he groans, cracking one eye open. "I have practice."
"That's too bad," I sigh, letting one hand drift down my stomach toward my pussy.
His eyes fly open, riveted to me. I can see him warring with himself. Self-control has never looked so devastatingly perfect.
I slide two fingers over my slit, spreading myself for him, and his jaw clenches so hard I hear it crack.
"Jesus, Serena," he rasps, like I'm the only prayer he's ever learned.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I taunt, my voice soft and wicked, while I stroke just above my clit.
