“So the entire time I was gone, the only thing you thought about was torturing me?” he asks, a rumble against my lips.
I smile and continue, kissing the path down his chest until I reach where I want to be, and this time, after I lick the sides of his length, I take him into my mouth slowly.
“Oh, fuuuuuck,” he hisses. The fitted corner of the fitted sheet snaps up as it comes undone with his grasp. “God damn it, Josslyn. Fuck. Fuck.”
I continue licking and sucking and massaging his balls as his hips push off the bed. I nearly laugh because I know what I’m going to say next is really going to drive him crazy, but I suck twice more before I let him go. His eyes are wild as he searches my face, panting as he waits.
“Can I touch you now?” he asks, his voice a croak.
I smile and move up a little, pressing my weight against him until my mouth reaches his ear so I can whisper, “You can touch me, but I want you to fuck my face.”
He stops breathing. But when I pull back and see the look in his eyes, I’m the one who stops breathing.
“I am so going to fucking keep you,” he says, eyes blazing as he positions us so he’s sitting at the edge of the bed and I’m kneeling before him.
He takes off the jersey I’m wearing and tosses it aside, and I don’t wait for instructions before taking him in my mouth again, inhaling sharply when he wraps my hair around his hand and pulls so hard, my eyes start to tear up. I continue licking and sucking as I condition my mouth to take him deeper. My thighs clench with each growl from his lips, each thrust of his hips. He hits the back of my throat, and the urge to gag makes me want to stop what I’m doing, but he doesn’t give me any reprieve.
“Breathe through your nose. Just like that,” he says. “Fuck yes. You take me so well, baby. So fucking perfect for me.”
His words shoot a wave of need through my body and I start clenching my thighs to make friction between my legs.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Touch yourself for me. Touch yourself while I fuck your mouth.”
I continue to grip one of his hips while I lower my other hand. He groans, thrusting harder as my fingers dance between my legs.He brings a hand down to cup my breast and pinch my nipples, and I moan around his cock.
“That’s it, baby. Keep playing with that pretty pussy,” he growls, thrusting faster.
He lets go of my hair and starts to play with both of my breasts. My fingers quicken to match the tempo of his thrusts, and I moan again, louder, as my core tightens and the familiar sensation whips through me. I start to shake as my orgasm consumes me. Finn pulls out completely, and through hooded eyes, I watch as he continues to pump his cock in his grip.
The sight keeps my hand moving and pulls another orgasm from me—so intense, I feel tears build in my eyes. I try to keep them open and on him. He gasps, throwing his head back with a roar, as he shoots cum all over my face and chest. We’re both panting by the time we finish. He lets go of himself and lowers his face to look at me, heat still flaring in those intense eyes of his.
“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now with my cum all over you,” he says hoarsely.
Later that night, we’re lying in bed watching highlights of some games, including his. When he’s home, our days are pretty structured. We’re both gone the entire day, and whoever gets home first makes or orders dinner. We talk, shower, have sex, talk some more, watch TV, and just lie here.
“You leave again soon,” I say sadly.
“We have a few days.” He kisses my temple.
“What are we going to do when my season starts?” I ask, already dreading it.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, slowly running a hand over my hair. “What are you going to do when you get your degree?”
“I want to keep developing the Alma Foundation. There are so many more people we can reach and help. My mom’s done a great job with the annual fundraiser and raising money throughout the year…” I stop talking because I don’t know how to express that it’s not enough.
“But it’s not enough,” he says, somehow reading my thoughts.He pulls back slightly to look at my face. “You don’t want to keep playing basketball?”
“I started playing basketball because of my dad. I was a total daddy’s girl.” I smile when his eyes soften. “I love it. I’ve played for as long as I can remember. I broke the all-time 3-point record at Fairview University. I mean, it’s not like I’m Caitlin Clark or anything, but Iamgood,” I say.
He looks amused as he leans in and kisses me. “I know you are.”
“Butplaying college and playing professionally are completely different. I’m a great college player, but the women in the WNBA are next-level good.” I lick my lips. “Besides, basketball isn’t my life. It never has been. It’s just a sport I play that makes me feel closer to my dad. I don’t think… I don’t think I need it anymore. Not for that.”
“I understand.”
My eyes rise. “Do you, though?”
He’s next-level good, and it’s not like hockey is something that ties him to his parents. If anything, it’s the opposite.
