Page 94 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

He raises a brow as he grabs us some forks. “No, but don’t you think that’s a bit mean for the other fish? You picked the biggest and prettiest one.”

I frown. “Are you joking right now?”

He smirks. “Of course I am. They’re fish,” he says as he picks up the smoothie and swallows almost half of it in one go.

“I see how it is, Mr. Funny Guy.” My foot reaches for him, and I drag him between my legs. He sets his cup down and then wraps his hand around the back of my neck, long fingers threading into my hair.

“I am a funny guy.”

“I know you are,” I tell him, looking up into his handsome face.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you in my house?”

“No.” I wrap my heels around his calves. “But I’m thinking you should.”

“Well, I do. Also, just so there’s no confusion, it’s your house, too.” His thumb swipes underneath my chin, and then he tilts my head backward.

“So does that mean Dory is mine, too?” I wag my brows.

He laughs. “Dory? That’s what you named the fish? Not very original,” he teases.

I shrug. “Ehh, it works.”

“You work,” he says, licking his lips.

And folks, that’s all it takes for all thoughts of breakfast to leave the room. His gaze locks on to my mouth, and my stomach tightens.

“Why do I feel like I can’t get enough of you? I just had you twenty minutes ago, and I already want you again,” he tells me, his voice rough with longing.

“Then take me.” After all, who am I to complain?

Not needing any more permission, his hands wrap around my hips, and he pulls me to the edge of the counter and flush against him. My feet move and now hook around the back of his thighs. I hold on to his waist, as I know by the look in his eyes, I’m about to be annihilated.

Slipping his hands under my shirt, he drags them up my body, taking the shirt with them. My arms lift on their own, and he pulls it right off me, leaving me stark naked on his counter.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mumbles as his eyes drift over me and then come back to mine. His hands fall to my shoulders, where he drags them down my arms, his thumbs tracing my collarbones and then the bottom curve of each breast. It feels so sensual, my core clenches.

Needing to feel his skin against mine, I dip my fingers under his waistband until I have a solid hold and push. His shorts drop to the floor, he steps out of them and wastes no time wrapping his arms around me and crushing his mouth to mine.

I will never tire of kissing him.

Tyler worships me with his mouth and his hands as he lays me back on the cold counter, slides me to the edge, and then enters me. Sparks fly behind the backs of my eyes at the feeling of us being connected.

Will it always feel like this?

I sure hope so.

I want this man for the rest of my life. How I feel about him is so different from how I felt when I was with Dean that they are incomparable. I always said I’d never date another athlete, but I don’t feel like football comes first. I feel like his career and his love for me are completely separate and don’t compete with each other. I feel like he truly sees me and accepts me for me. I feel supported and encouraged, and he makes me want to be the best version of myself. I feel gratitude and blessings. Also love. So much love.

My heels hook together behind him, and I do my best to anchor myself as he slides us back and forth on the counter with each drag of his hips.

Messy hair, dark passion-filled eyes, and swollen lips are almost enough to undo me, and I know this isn’t going to last long. Not that I need it to because I don’t. This man was made for me.

Sliding his palms over my breasts, he slows for a moment as he becomes transfixed, kneading them. His thumbs circle both, and a streak of longing hits so hard it shoots straight down my spine.

“Tyler.” His eyes lift to mine. “More,” I tell him, needing to feel him as out of control as I do.

“As you wish.” He drops his forehead to the middle of my chest, his hands slide to my waist, grip me hard, and I know he’s about to send us both over the edge.