The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(54)

Mesh gym shorts.

Those damn shorts do nothing to conceal the very obvious outline of the dick nestled inside, the navy fabric thinner than my tank top and making me squirm every time my eyes take a gander downward.

Which is every few seconds.

Arms behind his head, the undersides of his biceps are paler than the rest of his arms, the flesh tender. I fixate on his light brown armpit hair for a few heartbeats; I find it masculine and sexy. Very different than the parts on my body, deliciously so.

When the new show comes on, the impulse to commentate is impossible to resist. We’re shocked, outraged, and awed by what’s happening on screen. Annoyed, obviously, voicing our opinions during the first episode—until our lids get heavy with fatigue.

For a while, the lights stay on, illuminating the room; when my eyes start drooping, Elliot climbs off the bed to flip them off. Pulls back the cover when he returns, sliding in beside me, heating the small space between us.

I sigh, letting my lids close.

Content.

Body humming.

Sigh again when at some point in the middle of the night, the large hand on my hip skims down my thigh. Sleepily, across my waist it drifts, up the front side of my shirt. Floats up and down in relaxed, lazy motions over my stomach, pulling me in.

Elliot tucks me into his body, palm splayed on my abdomen.

If this is a dream, don’t wake me…

His huge paw travels north, heated, thumb hooking the hem of my shirt and sliding beneath it brazenly. Unhurriedly caresses my ribcage, dangerously close to my breasts, back and forth…back and forth….

It feels like heaven.

It makes me ache with desire.

In a dreamlike daze, I drag Elliot’s arm higher so his palm is cupping my boob. The pads of his fingers brush across my stiff nipples, first one, then the other, in slow circles. Rubbing gently. Plucking. Rolling them between his forefinger and thumb so slowly, the dull ache between my legs begins to throb.

Spooning, my ass is snug against his growing erection, so snug I feel it twitch inside his gym shorts. Straining.

Gradually, I rotate my pelvis, grinding into it.

His gluts flex.

Body stirs.

Fingers grip me tighter, flexing.

When his warm lips meet the back of my neck, hot breath fanning my skin, it’s an ecstasy I could get high from. The simple act of his face being buried in my hair is so arousing, making me hot. I squirm, our bodies entwining.

Elliot’s mouth kissing my shoulder, hand on my breast…

Arching my back, I reach behind me to pull him closer. Pull his head down, fingers plowing through his thick hair as his fingers pluck at my nipple from under my shirt.

Oh God, it feels so good.

I moan quietly.

He groans gruffly, hand snaking down my abs and stomach, inching its way below my belly button. Pads of his fingers reach into my shorts, find the valley between my thighs where it’s warm and damp and ready.

Elliot plays, middle finger rubbing tiny little circles, round and round, in the center of my slit. Mouth sucks my neck while my back arches and I twist his hair.

When I can’t stand it anymore, I ease away, flipping to face him; we’re breathing heavy and only inches apart. In the background, an infomercial illuminates the room with enough light that we can see each other.

Just enough.

His lids are open now, too, blinking back at me. Nostrils flared. Chest heaving.

Dick swelling—I can feel it against my thigh.

Wanton.

Drowsy.

So good and so hard.

I don’t know how long we lie there, staring each other down, slowly coming awake, hearts racing, but I know his heart is racing, too, because I can see it in his eyes.

They’re wide and shining and full of veiled anticipation.

Using the dark as an alibi, I raise my palm to his shoulder, running it along his collarbone, memorizing every velvety line. Trace his jawline. Indulgently run the pads of my fingertips behind his neck, lazily toying with his hair.

When my thumb brushes over his beautiful mouth, his lips part, landing a kiss on the tip of my finger. Seizes my forearm, grazing the center of my palm with his mouth.

It tickles. Tingles.

Makes me shiver.

Then…

Elliot kisses my wrist, nose running along the sensitive skin on the inside. Up to the crook of my elbow, small intakes of breath escaping us both while he inhales the smell of my perfume, the soap from my shower earlier in the evening.

My eyes flutter closed and somehow, we find ourselves moving closer, our bodies finally pressed together. Elliot’s tenacious erection demands attention.

His neck bends.

Mouth drags along my shoulder at the same time his hand moves over the top of my tank, cupping my breast.

Lips find the pulse in my neck, quietly sucking.

I moan, eyes fluttering open, staring at the ceiling, collecting fistfuls of his hair in my hands while Elliot tastes my flesh.

Then…our lips meet for our first kiss.

Press together once, exploring.

Twice.

Tongues connect, probing.

Hot, wet, needy.

So needy.

This is a side of Elliot I haven’t discovered yet, this physical, unrestrained, sensual side. I’m on fire for him, my body a flaming calamity of want and greed and longing.

Everything about him is sexy. His warm hands on my skin. His wet, ravenous tongue inside my mouth. His full, pouty lips. The flat abs and happy trail leading down into his shorts.