I trap both her hands above her head, holding her wrists down as I get up on an elbow and grind against her pussy.
My lips hover over hers as I say, “Rub that horny little pussy on my cock. Get?—”
“Ah!” she cries out, arching her back. “Oh, fuck.”
The moment I know she’s coming down from her orgasm, I grind against her a final time and groan long and deep, letting myself come, too.
She puts a hand on my shoulder, her eyes finding mine. “Don’t regret this. Please.”
“I won’t.” I kiss her gently. “I’ll relive it a thousand times in my fantasies.”
Her smile slides away. “You don’t have to fantasize about me, baby. I’m right here, anytime you want me.”
I kiss her again.“See if you still feel that way this time next week.”
“I will.”
I move off her, lying on my back, and she snuggles into my side.
“We resolved the bed issue quite well, I think. Let’s settle every argument we have this way.”
I smile and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be picking fights with you every second of every day.”
“Mm. Perfect.”
“Get some sleep.”
“You too. And don’t you dare leave this bed.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jules
I archa brow at Blair when I find her on the outskirts of a downtown hotel ballroom, a champagne flute in each hand. “Double-fisting it?”
“Not the way I’d like to be,” she says lightly, passing me a glass. “But at least I can live vicariously through you.”
“I don’t want it. I can’t carry it around while I’m taking photos.”
“Have a sip and I’ll carry it for you.”
I clear my throat, scanning the room for Noel. The fundraising event for the Cleveland Crush is black tie, and I know he’ll be wearing the hell out of his tuxedo. I picked out my floor-length emerald dress with a slit starting at mid-thigh with him in mind.
“I’m good,” I say dismissively.
“Jules.” My sister’s no-nonsense tone makes me look at her. “The promise.”
I give her a look, whispering. “I never promised you I’d drink if I didn’t want to.”
“Don’t. It’s me, and I see through your bullshit. You’re afraid to drink because you think you’ll turn into her.”
“We’re not having this conversation here.”
She sets the glass down. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I wave at Leo, who’s standing with his wife, Mara. She’s beautiful. In her red dress, with her hair up in a sexy style, she looks like a model or an actress. Her pregnancy isn’t showing yet. And even though I’d like to congratulate her, Leo asked the teammates and staffers who know about it to keep it under wraps.
“Can I get a photo of you two?” I ask.
