Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(36)

“Fuck. Yes.” He reaches down to gather my hair around his hand, probably so he can watch. I raise my eyes to his and give him an ambitious suck, hollowing my cheeks.

“Jesus H,” he sputters. “You have no idea how sexy you look right now. Take it, honey. Fuck. That’s… Unngh.” He rolls his hips to get me to take more.

I rarely do this for anyone. Ever since my first fling with Tank, I haven’t had much interest in casual hookups. I’m more interested in finding someone to date. But nobody has made it past the third date in a long time.

With Tank it’s different. Rules? What rules? I do whatever he asks, and then some. I run my fingertips over his sac, and he moans. I take him deep into my throat, and he starts panting.

“Slow down, girly. Or this will be over pretty fast,” he rasps.

But I don’t want to slow down. I like the sounds he’s making, and the salty taste of him on my tongue. I suck him until I gag. And then I suck him some more.

“Bess,” he grunts, tugging me off. “Get up here. I need to fuck you.”

That’s the magic word. Need. So I sit up quickly.

He tosses his T-shirt onto the floor, and now he’s completely naked. Turning his attention to the delicate buttons on my blouse, he gently unbuttons each one. Every couple of buttons, I receive a hungry kiss.

Still feeling weepy and unsettled, I let him move me around like a puppet. His hands are warm and soothing as he peels my blouse off my shoulders and drops it onto a side table. “You’re still wearing panties,” he chides me.

He’s right. And I’m still wearing my bra, too. We work together to strip them from my body, and soon they’re on the floor.

“Damn,” he whispers as I kneel on the bed beside him, my breasts bouncing free. “Look at me.”

His green eyes are heated and glittering, his gaze making everything seem perfectly right. Like I was meant to be the temptress who knocks on his hotel room door in the middle of the day and then sucks his cock.

“Get over here.” He tugs my very naked body onto his lap. As I straddle him, he pulls me against his chest and kisses me deeply.

I feel achy with desire as we meet, skin to skin. This is wrong in so many ways. Sex is a stupid way to grieve. I feel selfish and sad as our tongues meld again and again. I’m using Tank for comfort. And not just his hard body—although it is glorious. I need someone to hold me and make me feel loved.

He doesn’t seem to mind the job, though. He braces my hips in his hands and slides his cock against my sensitive flesh. “Ride me, honey,” he whispers.

I shake my head, because that’s not what I want right now. Then I kiss him again and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Okay,” he says against my mouth. “What the girl wants, the girl gets.” In a serious feat of coordination, Tank rolls us both over with no break in the kissing. My no-sex-with-athletes policy is looking a little foolish right about now.

Or at least my no-sex-with-Tank policy. Nobody else tempts me like he does. Nobody else kisses like he does. I’ve never felt as worshipped as I do right this second. He clasps my hands and stares into my eyes like there’s nobody else in the world except us.

Shamelessly, I part my legs for him.

He doesn’t make me wait. With a hungry groan, he fills me. He brushes my hair off my face, dropping kisses everywhere as he slowly begins to move.

I lift my heels to his ass, holding him in place. Time slows. I hear the horn of a tugboat on the river. And the water’s reflection sparkles on the white ceiling above us. “Don’t stop,” I breathe. “Never stop.”

He doesn’t. He picks up the pace. “You kill me,” he grunts against my skin. “I’m trying to go slow, but you make me so fucking hard.”

The praise warms me up inside. I’m helpless to enjoy the eager grind of his hips, and the weight of his green-eyed stare. “Faster,” I beg.

Tank closes his eyes and groans. “You feel too good. I can’t last forever.” He lifts one of my knees, folding it under his arm, exposing more of me. Then he drops his head and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth.

I arch my back and moan, because he makes me feel so wild.

“Yeah,” he grunts happily. “Oh, fuck.”

His muscles lock as he groans loudly, and that’s all it takes. I lift my hips and take what I need from him, shattering as he gives me one more deep thrust.

“That’s a girl,” he gasps. “Give it to me.”

As if I could help it. I sink into the mattress and try to hold on to the bliss.

Tank collapses a moment later, rolling to his side and pulling me with him.

We lay there for a while—lazy and limp, curled up in the bed together, pretending that it’s not midafternoon on a Tuesday. I’m in a post-sex coma, thinking only hazy thoughts. But they turn guilty as soon as my brain comes back online.

“Shh,” he says.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you’re about to. Something about how we shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, we shouldn’t have,” I point out, my face still buried in his neck.

“Hogwash.”

I lift my face and glance at him. “Hogwash? Is that something people say in Texas?”

“Don’t knock Texas,” he says lazily. “God, I’m starving. Can I order you some Mexican food? It’s an emergency situation.”