"You look like you're mine." His hand slides higher, cupping my breasts, and I gasp. "You look like I should bend you over and fuck that pussy until you can't remember your own name."
Heat floods through me, my body already responding to his touch. "Is this a hockey thing? The jersey?"
"It's a you-wearing-my-number thing." His thumb brushes over my nipple, and my knees nearly buckle. "Every guy in the league dreams about this. A girl in their jersey. But you're not just any girl, Maya. You're?—"
"Yours?"
"Fuck yes, you're mine."
He kisses me hard,possessive,one hand still under the jersey while the other grips my hip. I can feel him hard against me, pressing into my stomach, and I'm already soaking, already desperate for him.
"Bed," I say against his mouth. "Now."
We stumble across the room, hands pulling at his clothes until he's down to his boxers. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap, the jersey riding up around my waist.
"This is staying on," he says, tugging at the hem. "The wholetime. You're going to ride me wearing my number, and I'm going to lose my fucking mind."
"Yes," I breathe, already positioning myself over him.
But before I can move, he grips my hips, holding me still. "Wait."
"Jackson—"
"I need you to know something." His eyes are intense, searching mine. "I'd do anything for you, Maya."
My heart stutters. "Anything?"
He simply nods.
A wild impulse overtakes me, something primal and possessive. "Crawl to me then."
His eyes widen. "What?"
"You heard me." I slide off his lap, moving to stand a few feet away. "Get on your hands and knees and crawl to me."
For a moment, he just stares at me, and I think maybe I've pushed too far, but then he's sliding off the bed and dropping to the floor.
My breath catches as he starts moving toward me, muscles flexing under his skin, his eyes never leaving mine. There's something raw in his expression, vulnerable and desperate and so full of want that I can barely stand it.
When he reaches me, he sits back on his heels, looking up at me with those incredible green eyes.
"Anything," he says again, his voice rough.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging, and he leans into my touch. "You mean that?”
"Every word." His hands find my thighs, sliding up under the jersey. "I'm yours, Maya. Completely."
The power of it makes my head spin. I pull him to his feet, kissing him hard, and we're moving again, tumbling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.
He strips off his boxers while I watch, and then he's pulling me back onto his lap, positioning me over him.
"Look at me," he says as I begin to sink onto his cock. "I want to watch you take my fucking cock while you’re wearing my jersey."
I meet his eyes as I lower myself more, the stretch perfect, familiar, but somehow different tonight. The jersey shifts with the movement, the fabric brushing against my oversensitive skin, and I can see in his face how much this affects him.
"Fuck," he groans when I'm fully seated. "You feel incredible. You look incredible. Twenty-five looks so fucking good on you."
I start to move, hands braced on his shoulders, and his hands guide my hips, helping me find the rhythm. Every movement sends pleasure spiraling through me, building and building.
