I can imagine him raking a hand through his dark hair, running it down his face, gripping the edge of his desk, and I giggle.
Maisie:
Maisie: Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight and you can see for yourself.
Maisie: & remind me again what you said you were going to do with my mouth. I think I’m going to need a very thorough reminder, Coach.
Coach: You’re going to fucking kill me.
Maisie: See you at 6.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
WILDER
It’s beentwo hours since she sent me that goddamn picture, and I still can’t focus, my concentration non-fucking-existent.
Because Maisie Delacroix is filling my head like static.
The same way that she has been since she came on my fingers three days ago, whimpering, moaning my name.
I’ve never allowed myself any type of vice. Nothing that could become an addiction. I couldn’t, not when there was rot in my veins.
But after a single taste of her, I am hooked. Addicted.
Desperate for another hit of her like she’s the most potent drug on the planet.
I’ve jerked off more times than I want to admit since that night in her living room, replaying it in my head over and over.
I feel out of control. Like a goddamn teenager unable to keep shit in check.
And then today… she sends that picture, teasing me, offering me the smallest glimpse of bare skin in lace, and I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind, sitting in my office with a hard-on that I can’t get to go down.
I should’ve said yes when she asked if I was busy tonight. I should’ve made up an excuse, but I’m done denying myself.
I can’t stay the fuck away from her. I’ve tried, and look how that ended up. My fingers buried in her cunt.
Sighing, I slam my laptop closed and stand from my desk.
We’ve got an away series coming up, and regardless of whether I want it or not, I have a job to do. I’ve got to make sure the defense is prepared, but it’s impossible when I can’t focus.
So, I’m going to Maisie’s.
I’m going to have dinner and then hopefully her for dessert because I’ve spent the last three days thinking about all the ways I’m going to eat her pussy.
My phone rings just as I push through the exit doors of the arena, and I glance down to see Camila’s name on the screen.
It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve talked to her. Between my coaching schedule and my newest distraction, I’ve hardly had time.
Or the headspace for the conversation.
I answer, pressing it to my shoulder as I unlock my truck and slide into the driver’s seat.
“Hello.”
“Oh, hi, Wilder. Long time no talk. Glad you could pick up and stop dodging my phone calls.”
