I had no control over my own body, which was still pulsing. Pulling. Milking him.
He gripped me tight, while inside, his orgasm continued.
Finally, it eased, and I could draw breath.
Slowly, he pulled back. His eyes were dark when he opened them, and his gaze landed on my glistening sex where I was still spread open for him.
“One last time,” he whispered.
What?
Then he dropped down and kissed my clit. I whimpered because it was all I had the strength for. Then I felt a swipe of his tongue, a nip from his teeth. Fingers pushed deep inside me, stroking me from the inside.
And another wave overcame me.
Bliss.
Chapter Eleven
Connor
Nothing smelled as good as Gia did. Sure, I loved her taste, and as for her looks—she was gorgeous. But her scent was what slayed me every time. Ever since she’d started working for the Bobcats, I often wandered the halls, hoping to catch a hint of her ginger spice scent. But that was mostly perfume. This, right here between her thighs, was pure, unadulterated Gia. I could have happily stayed here forever.
Though, that wasn’t exactly the best idea, given that the game was going to start soon. I should be in the locker room listening to the coaches or studying my notes on the other team’s players. But no, I was here with the scent of Gia on my skin and tongue. I didn’t know how I’d even think about baseball with her ambrosia on my uniform.
She was still sprawled in the most erotic way on her desk. It couldn’t be comfortable for her, but I was already hard again, looking at her. Those gorgeous dark curls of hers tumbled wildly about her face, and her eyes were still dazed. I might have worried that I’d gone too far, but the curve to her lips told me she was happy. And she was still open and wet in the most enticing way.
Until footsteps sounded down the hallway. We both tensed immediately, and I helped her sit up. Then I quietly put my foot on the door so no one could come in.
Fortunately, no one knocked. The steps receded down toward the locker room, and we each blew out a relieved breath.She was already cleaning up, knotting her hair into a sloppy bun that still looked amazing. Her clothes came next, and I hurried to adjust myself, too, annoyed that my fingers trembled as I put everything back in its place. It was bad enough to feel shaky from great sex, and worse to have weak hands during a game. But that’s what Gia did to me. She made me weak. She made me want. And it was going to screw with my career, big time.
“So, um,” she said, her voice tentative. “That happened.”
I looked at her flushed cheeks. “Do you regret it?”
“God, no! But I get the feeling you do.”
My chin jerked up so I could study her expression. She was calm and composed, her eyes steady, but there was a challenge there that I couldn’t deny. She was damned perceptive, and I had no idea how to explain.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” she said softly. “Did you stumble on me standing by the stadium door or did you come looking for me?”
I was always looking for her, whether or not I went to her side. But when I saw her body rigid like that—even from behind—I knew something was really wrong. And I had an ugly guess as to what it was.
“I was walking and saw you.” I shrugged. “And maybe I wanted to see you, you know, for luck. Before the game.” She didn’t know she was part of my pre-game ritual. I always caught a glimpse of her before we played. In the stadium, the press area, or just watching the warm-ups—I had to see her, and so I had come looking for her.
“For luck?” The doubt was clear in her voice.
My shoulders tensed, and my voice took on a defensive note. “Yes, for luck. You…bring me luck.”
She glanced back at the disaster that was her desk. Half of what had been there was on the floor. If there had been any organization, there wasn’t any now.
“Well, I suppose that’s one word for it. I hope you hit a dozen home runs.”
That would be a miracle. Still, hope sprung eternal. But rather than discuss my batting average or my pre-game Gia ritual, I pushed the conversation back to her. “Tell me what upset you.”
She shook her head, her mouth tightly shut.
“Was it my sister? Was she the one who took credit for your work?”
