Page 89 of Lucky Shot

Both tempt and taunt me. Both come with a point of no return that I’m well beyond.

His hands map my curves, and my skin heats beneath them while his mouth laces kisses everywhere—the column of my throat, my lips, my fingertips, beneath my ear. I press against him, drinking him in and getting drunk on his kiss.

“You’re here. Should I assume you’ve made up your mind?” he asks between kisses.

“You really have to ask?” I laugh.

“Yes. I do,” he murmurs against my lips.

But those three words, those three syllables, are why I’m here. His respect for me, for my needs, and for my wants are more powerful than any desire has ever been—and the desire is more than fierce.

“Yes, Hardy. The answer is yes.”

“Thank fucking God,” he grits out as his hands find their way beneath my waistband and straight to the apex of my thighs. His groan is guttural and desperate.

My moan is greedy and packed with need as I let him part me and dip his fingers into me. My breath hitches as he pushes his way into me, and I tense around him.

I grab his cock. It’s hard, and if I weren’t already wet, his cock heavy and thick in my hand would do it.

“Ever had sex on the pitch?” he asks. “Because I don’t think we’re going to make it much farther if you keep your hand wrapped around my cock like that.”

I’m so consumed by him that I forget where we are and what we’re doing. None of it matters. Only he does. Only now does.

“Pitch is fine.” It won’t be the first time I have grass beneath my back and I have no shame in the thought. “Condom is in my purse,” I pant out.

“Thank fuck for that,” he groans as I rub my thumb over his tip and smear the drop of pre-cum around with one hand and dig into the side of my purse with the other until I feel the square package.

Our lips meet again. One kiss after another that only fuels the need, entices the greed, and creates an urgency that I didn’t expect.

I love the feel of his sweat-slicked chest beneath my palm. It’s a roadmap of dents and ridges as I slide my free hand down his pecs and over his abs to grab his cock with both hands.

He shoves down his shorts to give me better access, but he trips as he tries to step out of his shorts, forgetting that his shoes are on and lands solidly against me.

Not that I mind, but we both burst out laughing.

“You have entirely too many clothes on,” he says as he pulls my shirt over my head, and I release his cock to shove my shorts down. I take a step back and undo my bra, letting it fall to the ground. It may be dark in the stadium, but I can see the desire fire in his eyes when he sees me standing there completely naked.

I made the right decision coming here.

Hands down. No doubt.

If there’s one thing that look telegraphs to me, it’s that.

“I thought I’d made up in my mind how gorgeous you were,” he murmurs as he reaches out and cups the side of my cheek. “I didn’t.” He leans down and pulls one of my nipples into his mouth while his hand cups my other breast.

I gasp at the sensation—the warmth, the wetness, the pressure. My body gets goosebumps as I arch my back and press my chest into him.

“Hardy. Please,” I beg. “We’ve danced around this long enough.”

“Tell me what you want,” he says as he gives my other nipple the same treatment.

“You. This. Now. Please,” I groan as the ache spreads like a wildfire through me. It has no beginning and no end and I don’t know that I ever want it to.

With zero finesse and with a blend of laughter and moans between kisses, we lower ourselves to the pitch.

“Tell me what you need to get off,” he says as he sits on his ass and lays back. I watch him undo the foil packet and jacket up. “Tell me what you like. Where I’ll be the deepest and hit where you need to get hit.”

I stare at his fingers working over his cock, and all I can think about is sinking down onto it. So rather than tell him, I show him. I run my fingernails up his chest, welcoming his hiss in reaction and moan when I wrap my hand around the base of his shaft.