Then suddenly, I felt his hands on the back of my thighs. I was braced against the wall, so when he lifted me up, I was completely untethered. The only things holding me up were the wall at my back and his hands on my thighs. I gripped his shoulders as he drove inside, then wrapped myself around him as if he was my everything.
He grunted as he thrust, a deep animal sound that perfectly matched my own. We were two beasts in season, all physical need without thought, mating in a frenzy of hormones. Except there would be no children from this, and for that, I was profoundly saddened.
Or I would have been, if I’d had space to breathe, to think, or even to feel emotional. Everything was consumed by the physical rush. His body inside mine, moving together while I clenched around him.
Orgasm hit with a scream. My nerve endings burst in a flash fire of intensity. He gripped me tighter as I writhed. He must have come, too, from the sounds of it. But all I knew was that he was still inside me. And every moment that he moved—however he moved—my body burst in overwhelming pulses of energy, not so much a release as much as need compressed into tiny physical beats. It was as if my orgasm was a steady explosion of one word.
Want. Want. Want.
Then he slowed. It felt like he was buried so deep inside me that he might not be able to get out. Oh, I wish.…
His head fell forward onto my shoulder. My legs, locked around his hips, began to tire. And the heat of his breath down and across my breast set my nipple to tingling.
Want.
I felt him pulsing inside me. It was as if our bodies were still talking, though our minds were completely robbed of words.
Want.
You.
And then it stopped.
My legs released, and he gently set me back on the floor, sliding out of me. His breath puffed hot down my breast, and I felt the weight of his forehead heavy on my shoulder.
“I wanted you so bad,” he said, the words a low kind of moan.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About everything.”
“Me, too.”
“I played like shit.”
I didn’t have an echo there. I’d been crappy at my job, too, but the stakes were so much lower for me. I’d taken a reporter to the wrong place for an interview. I’d confused the CBS and the NBC reporters. And I’d tweeted at the wrong @name. He’d goofed on a couple of plays and allowed two unnecessary runs to score.
“It wasn’t a very important game,” I suggested. “The first of the series—”
“Every game’s important. Especially now.”
He was right. In a pennant race, there was no room for error. Connor needed to be able to catch, hit…and think.
“I want you,” he repeated.
“We were supposed to talk.”
“Do you really want to?”
“Yes.”
He sighed, and his head felt heavier. “But maybe not right away.” He pressed his lips to my neck. The scrape of his teeth against my skin had me shivering. “I always like to taste you after we make love. You know that.”
I smiled. “I know. I like that, too.”
“And there are still positions we haven’t tried.”
“I’m not flexible enough.” I stroked my hand up his bare ass. “Neither are you.”
