Still, I rub the head of my cock against her entrance, coating myself in her arousal.
“Fletch,” she begs, wiggling against me. Willing to give her exactly what she wants, I thrust my hips and bury myself deep inside her.
She cries out as she wraps her legs around me, her heels digging into the flesh of my back, and fuck, that feels good.
My entire body vibrates with need for this woman, but I do my best to savor it as I keep my movements slow and steady, at least for now. She’s already gotten me halfway there with her mouth, which means if I’m not careful, I won’t be able to last, and this will all be over way too soon.
I can feel her growing needier beneath me. Her movements become frenzied, her body moving in sync with my own, as each thrust of her hips becomes rougher and sloppier.
My fingers dig into her legs, as I pound myself harder and deeper into her as she gives her thanks with loud pants and moans.
Helping her along, one hand slides between us, my finger circling and stroking her clit. Her cries grow louder, the beautiful sounds only encouraging me on before her body beginsto tremble, as something seems to seize and snap inside me as well.
Her heels dig in even deeper, and her warm pussy clenches down around me.
“Yes, that’s it baby. Come for me,” I rasp, watching in pure awe as her face contorts into one of pure ecstasy.
“Oh my God. I’m…” she cries out between pants. “Oh my God. Mason,” she moans, her back arching, as her fingers claw at the comforter.
Hearing her say my actual name, I’m done for as my balls tighten and I sink into her with one final thrust.
I stay in the moment for as long as possible, my entire body buzzing like a live wire, and only once both of our bodies have come down from the highest of highs do I carefully pull myself out of her.
I quickly discard the condom before turning back toward her, where she’s pulled herself into a lying position on the bed.
She no longer looks like she did earlier, when she’d confidently walked into the gala. Her once pristine hair has come apart, her lipstick is smudged from sucking my dick, and the strap of her dress hangs limply off one shoulder, but damn—she’s never looked sexier.
“Am I now allowed to get out of this dress?”
“As much as I love it, I think it’s finally time,” I agree with a sigh, hating to see it go but more than ready for what I know is waiting for me underneath.
We have a long night of “benefits” ahead, and that dress would only get in the way of those plans, especially when benefits are all I get for now.
She might not be ready to admit there’s something more between us, but I know the truth. She’s just as into me, as I am with her. Maybe it won’t be tonight or even tomorrow, but one day Hollis Clemmins is going to admit we’re more than justfriends. Until then, I’m fine with letting her think she’s the one calling the shots.
29
Hollis
There’s something stupidly sexy about having a secret fling. The stolen moments, the inside jokes, and of course, the way my heart skips a beat every time Fletcher sneaks a glance in my direction. Unfortunately, there’s still that tiny, inconvenient part of my brain that keeps wondering what it would be like if we didn’t have to hide things and could be together and act like every other normal couple out there.
Not that I think we should be a couple. Or maybe it’s that deep down, I know we can’t be one. As soon as this season is over, I’m packing my bags and saying goodbye—no matter how hard it’s going to be.
Tonight though, I’m refusing to think about any future heartbreak or dramatic goodbyes. Nope. I’m allowing myself a night of full-on denial as I sneak in some more one-on-one time with Fletch after practice.
It’s a little pathetic how much I find myself missing him during our work hours, considering we spend most of our days on the field at the exact same time. Unfortunately, I’ve been forced to face the truth that just being near him is never enough. I literally crave him, and the majority of my day is spent anticipating our next stolen moment, like the Fletch addict I am, in desperate need of a fix.
It’s not just Fletcher I like; it’s the version of me I get to be whenever we’re together.
I can finally drop the act, no longer pretending to be the perfectly composed version of myself that everyone expects me to be. I can be silly, I can be loud, I can be sarcastic, I can be, well, me.
Sure, I joke around with the others from work, but with Fletcher? It’s just different. It’s real.
Not wanting to cause any gossip about us leaving together or at the same time, I left first, while he stayed to shower and get cleaned up.
After arriving at my apartment, I busy myself with a little extra work. Inspired by a recent social media trend, I search for pictures of the players from the Honky Tonks and Rowdy Rattlers from when they were younger, the more embarrassing the better. The current plan is to ambush them with their picture while asking them to sign it, catching their reactions on camera.
With my laptop open, I start Operation Blast from the Past and begin googling. I’m giggling to myself as I collect a few truly unflattering and hilarious photos of quite a few of the players. Deciding to reward myself, I search Fletcher’s name next.
