She spins around and backs herself up against the wall, giving me the green light to brace myself against the brick andfinallybe alone with her.
“You didn’t have to come to my rescue,” she whispers.
“Agree to disagree.”
“You were pretty…” She winds her arms around my neck and searches for the right word as she arches against me. “Brutish.”
It sounds like a compliment, and it makes my dick hard.
“Didn’t like someone else touching my wife, that’s for fucking sure.” I stroke my fingertips along the side of her neck, making her eyelids flutter half shut as I sink my hand into her hair and tug gently. “You’re mine to protect, Frankie. Mine to rescue. Mine to touch.”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I crush my mouth against hers with a kiss, pouring every bit of pent-up need from the last few hours into it, since I saw her in my jersey during warmups. The pride I felt playing in front of her, knowing she was cheering me on when I scored, the frustration of not being able to go to her after the game, the possessive fury of watching that asshole touch her.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” Her fingers burrow into my hair. Electric sparks of pleasure race beneath my scalp as she pulls me down for another kiss.
“I want the whole world to know you’re my wife,” I mumble against her lips. Her pulse races under my lips as I drag the kiss down her neck. “I know, not yet. But I don’t want there to be any doubt in your heart that I’ll be proud to claim you publicly when the time comes.”
She whimpers, and the sound nearly undoes me.
I haul her tighter against me, spinning us around so my back is against the brick and my hands can slide up under the jersey to squeeze her denim-clad ass. My jersey. My number on her back, my name emblazoned across her shoulders.
My tongue in her mouth.
“Let’s get you home,” I grind out between kisses. “I need to be inside you.”
Her hands are already working at my belt. “Home? That’s so far away.”
“Francesca…” I mean it as a warning, but it sounds like a plea.
She unzips my fly and squeezes my cock through my boxers, her fingers clever and sure.
Yes, I want her like this. Yes, I want her now. Yes, yes, fucking yes.
“I know it’s bad,” she pants. Now her fingers are in my shorts, stroking my bare flesh, and my brain short circuits.
My hips snap, driving my dick against her hand, taking that pleasure for a moment before I fight my baser instincts for control.
Gripping her wrist, I pull her incredible touch away from my cock.
“Bad?” I shake my head. “It’s not bad to want your husband inside you.”
I yank her hand up to my mouth so I can kiss the inside of her forearm and think for a second. She giggles as my chest heaves, but her laughter fades to barely contained micro moans as I nose the loose arm of the jersey up, up, up until my mouth is on the inside of her elbow.
I suck the skin there, my tongue ravenous for any taste of her.
She thinks this is bad, and she wants it anyway.
Fuck it.
I find her gaze, glittering in the dim light of the alley as I set her hands on my chest and squeeze my fingers around the intoxicating curve of her hips. “Is that what you want, Frankie? I need you to say it.”
She holds my eyes, unwavering and clear. “I want you inside me.”
“Good girl. You have to be quiet,” I rasp as I work her jeans and panties down. “You can be loud when we’re finally in your bed, baby. But right now you need to press your lips together to keep those pretty moans inside, understand?”
