Fake Fiancée(59)

I went further, my hand slipping under her tank and splaying across her breasts. My fingers toyed with the jewelry on her nipple, tweaking it until her eyes opened, a heaviness there that I knew was desire.

My hand kept going—painfully slow. It splayed across her ribs, counting them, thanking the heavens she was whole and complete and alive and with me. My fingers drifted over her lace panties, then I changed my mind and went to her nipple and drew little circles around it with my fingers. Her bottom teeth tugged on her lip, a little gasp coming from her parted mouth as she wiggled closer to my hand.

“Do you want me to touch you?” I whispered, leaning down to lightly kiss her on the lips.

Her eyes flared. “Yes. Please.”

My fingers slipped under her panties, dancing across her skin with a slowness that wrecked me. I buried my face in her hair and went for her neck, my mouth finding purchase and sucking hard just as my finger delved inside her.

Her entire body shuddered. I stroked her until she gasped my name, then I stopped and went back to her nipple, to those maddening circles.

Her hips rubbed against my thigh, her leg twitching against mine as she tugged me closer to her. “Don’t tease me,” she said.

“Not yet,” I growled, my tongue licking the edges of her ear.

I lifted her tank up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. Gazing down at her, I got lost. She was all creamy skin, long blond hair, and legs for days.

I groaned as her hand pushed inside my briefs and stroked my cock, making me nearly come. I pulled away from her touch. “Tricky girl,” I whispered before leaning down and wrapping my lips around her nipple, first one then the other. She grasped my head to her chest, her breaths coming in hurried pants as she arched off the bed to keep my mouth on her.

“I love waking up with you,” I said against her skin.

My fingers found her clit and circled, making her cry out. I put one languid finger inside her and then two, working at her gently. I crawled down her body and put my mouth on her, sucking. The air thickened around us, need rolling through both of us—and still I waited.

And just when I didn’t think she could be any sexier, she wiggled away from underneath me and scooted up to the head of the bed. Using her thumbs, she slid her underwear down her legs, and my hungry gaze followed. She turned over on her knees and gazed at me from over her shoulder.

Fuck.

She was dripping, all pink and soft skin. She trembled when I spread her apart with my fingers and went back to suckling at her from this new angle until finally her whole body tightened, her internal muscles clenching as she came around my mouth and fingers.

With one fluid motion my cock was inside her, riding out her spasms, barely hanging on to my own sanity as I slammed into her. She held on to the headboard, long hair hanging down on either side of her as I put my hand on her back, adjusting her to an angle where I could fuck her as hard and deep as I could.

And still she wanted more.

I gave it to her.

I kissed her scars, my hands tracing the lines of the tattoo on her nape. Time heals all wounds, but the scars remain, making you who you are. To me, hers were a beautiful mosaic. I admired her more because of them . . . because she’d come out of darkness and learned to fly.

Her muscles clamped around me as she came again, and this time I went with her, calling out her name. I never wanted this sensation to end. I never wanted us to end. Never. Never.

Still inside her, I moved, hard and ready for her again. I wanted her over and over and over until neither of us could move, until she begged me to stop.

My right hand stroked the lines of her spine, and she shuddered, her hair still hanging down on either side of her face. I leaned over her and moved it out of the way. Our eyes locked. One, two, three breaths—and the world tilted, everything sliding around until it fell gently into place.

I loved her. I loved her.

But I was terrified to say it.



Thanksgiving came and I spent it with the team for a special meal while Sunny went to Mimi’s. They had plans to go shopping on Friday—something about special flip-flops being on sale. I had intense practices anyway and didn’t need any distractions. Our big game was Saturday, and all my focus was there.

I missed her.

It was the knocking at my door that woke me on game day.

I checked my phone. It was six in the morning, and too damn early for a normal person.

I lumbered out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans, and opened the front door where a teary Bianca practically fell in my arms. I caught her to keep her from hitting the floor.

What now?

“Bianca?” I asked, as I set her back on her feet. “Wanna tell me why you’re crying?”

“It’s Felix.”

My chest rose. For the sake of the game, I’d let the knife thing go, but I didn’t want to be reminded of the asshole. I spent my time avoiding him this week as much as possible.

“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

She wiped at her face with her hands. “No. I almost wish he had.”

Okay.

I exhaled and opened the door wider. “You best come inside.”

She tugged her sweater around her shoulders and sat on the couch.

Tate came out of his room in his boxers and took in the scene. He squinted at me. “What’s she doing here?”

He’d never liked her.

I shrugged. His guess was as good as mine.