This man is going to make me come untouched. Fuck. My body is so on board for this.
“Be a good boy and hold on a little longer,” he coos, and I gurgle an agreement.
Every other plunge inside me, he squeezes my throat and stars float in my vision. He’s so beautiful, dark skin glistening with sweat and fierce determination on his face.
My ass contracts around him as I’m about to come. “Good boy.” Jamal cuts off my air again and lets go as I fade into darkness. “Come for me.” He takes his hand off my hip and catches my release.
I’m shaking with the magnitude of it. Jamal whispers in my ear, but the words don’t penetrate my pleasure-soaked brain. Little tremors rock me as I come down from my high.
Jamal brings his fist to his mouth and licks my cum. His pink tongue laps it from his dark hand, and I moan gibberish at the sight. He works his tongue around until he’s satisfied he’s eaten it all.
I eagerly kiss him to taste myself, but he shares my cum with me, pushing it into my mouth. My hands cup his face as we explore each other. I rock back on his cock, realizing he hasn’t come yet.
His palms slap my ass cheeks, and he bucks up, fucking unrestrained. All I want is to be the one who makes him come. The cords in his neck strain, and his pace falters as he fills me.
We’re panting and kissing and touching each other everywhere. Even with him inside me, I need more. I’m afraid I won’t get enough.
“I got you something.” Jamal reaches over to our nightstand and pulls out a stainless-steel butt plug.
If he hadn’t milked me dry, I’d shoot another load.
“You want to keep my cum?” He bites his bottom lip as if he’s unsure, but it’s exactly what I need.
My head nods like it’s not totally attached to my body. “If hockey goes away, I’ll be okay,” I murmur. “It’s you I can’t live without.”
“Kitten.” He brings our foreheads together. “You’re the only one for me. Forever.”
Chapter 39
Theo O'Keefe
Jamal’s hand remains on my back, grounding me to him and offering support. I’ve never been to a family Thanksgiving with so many people. Most of our Thanksgivings were spent in formal dining rooms with strangers, and I was told repeatedly not to embarrass the King family.
Old Theo went along with the protocol because it was easier than the alternative. New Theo intends to make a good impression on Jamal’s family.
The side-eye I’m receiving is a reminder that, although I’m a famous, rich athlete, that means nothing if they don’t like me.
“Wait, tell me again how Mary is related,” I say under my breath.
“She’s not a blood relation. She’s my auntie by choice,” he clarifies. Then adds, “You met her in my old apartment.”
“Got it,” I lie. I was raised as an outsider because I wasn’t a blood relation. This is so much better. He said if they give me a nickname, no matter how ridiculous, it means they like me.
There’s no way I’ll be able to eat with all this pressure.
“J, I’m going to steal Theo for a minute to help me.” Kenya links her arm with mine.
“I’ll help too,” Jamal says, but a look from his mom stops him.
Kenya sits me at the filled kitchen table. There’s cornbread dressing, mac and cheese, and lots of pies.
“What will settle your nerves—water, whiskey, or tea?” She runs her gaze over me in assessment.
“Is it that obvious?” I wince.
“You’re laughing really loud at DeAndre’s obnoxious jokes. This family knows he’s not funny.” She pats my shoulder and moves to the cabinet for a glass tumbler and a sixteen-ounce water cup. She rattles them in my direction and points to the cups, asking me to choose.
“Water,” I croak. No telling what my mouth will say if I drink whiskey. And tea isn’t my thing.
