Quarterback Sneak (Red Zone Rivals #3)(49)

He flexed, just enough for one inch of his cock to press inside me, and I shuttered with a moan I couldn’t contain.

Holden clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling my next moan as he slid out just enough to coat himself and thrust back in. This time, he buried himself, and I bit down on his finger to keep from crying out and waking every person in that hotel.

“Fucking Christ, Julep.” Holden shook as he withdrew and flexed inside again, savoring every inch, his cock stretching me open for him. He removed his hand from my mouth and kissed me hard, instead — his tongue swirling with mine just as it had between my legs in the pool.

I gasped at the reminder, the memory fresh in my mind as he flexed into me again and again, a little faster now, harder. I hung onto him, nails ripping into his flesh as I bounced between the door and his cock. I rode him wildly, needing more, desperate for the release I’d been deprived of in the pool.

Holden pressed harder into me, holding me as steady as he could with my wild bouncing as one hand slipped between us. My face was red hot with the restraint of holding in my cries of pleasure as he rubbed his palm against me, working my clit in time with his pulses until I erupted.

My orgasm swept in like a tsunami, twice as powerful now that it had to build yet again. This time, though, it crested, swallowing me up in a rip tide that was impossible to escape. I rode it to the very end, kissing Holden hard enough to keep me from moaning too loud. I writhed against him, hips rolling, his cock so deep inside me I could feel every centimeter stretching me.

I was floating, in another universe, consumed by untouchable pleasure.

“Oh, fuck,” Holden uttered against my lips, and I knew by how frantically he thrust now that he was close, too. But he somehow managed to slow, to let me milk the last of my orgasm before he all but stopped moving.

I held onto him, panting. “Don’t stop.”

“You said you don’t get on your knees for anyone,” he teased, sliding the tip of his nose up the bridge of mine before kissing me hard. His thrusts slowed just as much, and I felt every centimeter of him searing into me as he said, “I want you on your knees for me.”

I refused to admit how hot that made me, the way his eyes sparked with the challenge even as the degradation of what he was asking sank its teeth into my soul.

“Drop me,” I said.

He did, releasing his grip on me and withdrawing his cock. I shuttered once again at the loss, falling to my knees immediately.

But when I went to grab for him, he pulled back.

I narrowed my gaze up at him, but when I saw him — really saw him — my face went lax.

He was so fucking powerfully beautiful standing there, the shadows of his cheeks defined in the overhead light. His jaw clenched, and he ran his thumb along my bottom lip, pressing in until I opened my mouth.

“Beg for me.”

He withdrew his thumb as I sucked it on the way out, and against everything rational and feminist in my body, I looked up at him, tongue out, naked and on my knees.

“Please,” I whispered, reaching for him. When he let me wrap my hands around his shaft, I pressed the tip of it against my tongue, pumping him once, twice. “Please, Holden.”

Holden’s grin was salacious, and he fisted my hair in his hands, pulling my head back before he slid all the way inside. His eyes rolled back then, and he released me, letting me take control. I worked him with both hands in sync with my mouth, rolling my tongue over the tip of him and casing my hands in my saliva before twisting and rolling them over his shaft.

“Jesus, Julep,” he breathed, and then his hands splayed the door above me, abs contracting and face twisting.

His eyes closed just before he burst into my mouth.

I closed my lips over him, sucking him dry, savoring the taste of him on my tongue and gliding down my throat. I didn’t stop, not when he moaned my name or slammed a fist against the door, not until he shuttered and groaned and fell limp down to the ground with me.

And then, with his eyes locked on mine, I swallowed.

I fell back then, our eyes still connected in the dimly lit space between us. His back was against a shelf of towels, mine against the door, and we stared at each other, panting, naked and spent.

I felt it at the same time he did, the reality of what we’d just done, of where we were, of the danger we were in even still. My dad was in this hotel. He could be upstairs sleeping still, or he could be in the lobby. He could be exiting the elevators right outside this door.

Panic gripped me as fiercely as my orgasm had.

“I’ll go first,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Holden. I stood, pulling on my thong and bra before I draped my giant t-shirt over me.

“Julep, wait.”

I froze, even though everything in my body told me to run.

Slowly, Holden got to his feet. He took enough time to pull on his wet briefs, wincing as he tucked his still-hard cock into the waistband. Then, he crossed the small room to where I stood, hands framing my arms. He bent until I looked him in the eyes.

I immediately wished I hadn’t.

There was such tenderness there, such longing and relief — like we’d crossed some beaten-down hanging bridge and made it to safety on the other side.

He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Let’s talk when we get back,” he said, his eyes still searching mine.

I swallowed, looking down at the ground. “I need to go.”