Player(67)

God, the feeling of his weight, his hips sinking into mine, the heaviness of his body, the cage of his arms. I matched his rhythm without knowledge or intention, my hips rolling in time to his, bringing my body where I needed. And he knew where I needed it too, knew the exact speed, the exact force. He knew when to slow and when to speed. He knew when to kiss me and knew when I needed to breathe and be and nothing more.

His hand hooked my leg, guiding it over his shoulder as he got on his knees, tilting my ass to him. And when he pumped, he went deep, so deep, my lungs contracted in a gasp of shock and pleasure.

“Tell me when you can feel it,” he breathed, adjusting my leg as he thrust his hips again.

“Feel wha—-homygod.” My hands slapped into the sheets to brace myself when the tip of him hit a spot deep in my body I’d only read about. My fingers clutched at the sheets, back arched, offering my breasts to the sky. “Yes,” I whispered as he slammed into me, his hips waving to kiss my aching clit. I writhed, mad from the feeling so intense, I became a wild thing underneath him, around him.

And then there was only one objective, one desire. My nerves fired, burning a trail across my skin to the center of me, to my core so full of Sam.

Another thrust of his hips. A breath that skipped and shuddered in my chest. Another thrust, and my body contracted, squeezed, pulled him deeper into me. Another thrust, and I exploded in a blinding blaze of electricity, a pleasure so hot, so acute, I couldn’t hold it all. It split me open and poured out in a bursting pulse, drawing him into me as air sawed out of my lungs with affirmations and pleas.

My body slowed, but he didn’t. Faster he moved, the sound of his thighs slapping my ass ringing in the room. My breasts caught the motion, jostling in even circles, a whimper slipping out of me, my body still riding the last of my orgasm. His breath came faster, louder, a moan, a cry.

He swelled inside me, pulsed, and with a sweet sighing yes, he came, fingers digging into my flesh, brows tight, eyes pinned shut and jaw clenched.

I watched him release, watched him let go, watched his ecstasy, his pleasure.

His pleasure was my own, just as mine was his.

He pursed his lips and shifted, struggling for breath as he laid his body down on me, kissed me with the passion of a man who’d been liberated. He kissed me until our hearts slowed, kissed me until those hearts matched pace.

Only then did he break the kiss to look into my eyes, his fingers in my hair and his lips swollen and smiling. I was surrounded by him.

It was glorious.

“You must be a magician.” My voice was rough from disuse.

His smile lifted on one side. “Why?”

“’Cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

He laughed, kissing me sweetly. “If I had a dollar for every time I looked at you, I’d be in a higher tax bracket.”

A giggle burst out of me. “My name’s Microsoft. Mind if I crash at your place tonight?”

Another laugh, another kiss. His nose brushed against mine. “Will you? Stay the night with me, Val.”

I wound my arms around his neck. “You sure?”

“As your boyfriend, I respectfully demand it.”

I chuckled. “How can I argue with that?”

“You can’t,” he said against my lips. “Because I have more orgasms to earn, and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna take me all night.”

And then he kissed me and made good on that promise.





25





Boyfriend Material





Sam

When I woke, I woke wrapped up in Val.

We were a tangle of arms and legs, her head tucked under my chin and her breath puffing against my chest. She rested on the curve of my shoulder, and my arm cradled her head, keeping her close. Even in sleep, my fingers needed to rest in her dark curls. I could smell the coconut. I shamelessly buried my nose in her hair and inhaled like an utter and absolute creep.

“Mmm-nanaman,” she mumbled. “Banana man.”

I pursed my lips, stifling laughter.

“S’sa Piledriver. Bronco, bucking bronco. Mmm, Hobby Horse.” She giggled to herself, and the sound dissolved into a sigh.

A sharp intake of breath followed, marking the end of whatever dream she was having about horses, broncos, and professional wrestling.

She stirred, sighed, shifted to get us closer together.

“Morning,” I said gruffly, my voice raspy.

“Mmm,” was her only reply.

I couldn’t see her face, but I somehow knew she was smiling.

Closer still I pulled her, shifting to twine my legs tighter around hers. Our calves were back to back—hers smooth and soft, mine scratchy and hard.

“Bad news,” I started. “You do talk in your sleep.”

She gasped and raised her head, her face red where it had rested against my skin and lips open in an incredulous O. “I do not.”

“Do too. You were talking about Westerns and wrestling. And bananas. What do you know about Piledrivers?”

Recognition brushed away her disbelief, replacing it with embarrassment. “Oh my God. Nothing. It’s nothing.”

I laughed. “Nice try. Spill it, Valentina.”

She seemed to steel herself. “It’s a sexual position. Have you tried it?”