The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(40)

“Looks as if you’re trying to get me off.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m trying to get myself off.” Keeping my hands to myself, I smooth my center over his erection and revel in the feel of his hard cock beneath my warmth.

God, that feels good.

So freaking good that I get lost. He’s gripping my hips tighter and tighter, or trying to pull me down closer to him, but my focus is on the feel of my arousal gliding over his length, two pieces of fabric being the only barrier. Yes. This is what I needed. It’s erotic.

It’s sensual.

It feels so freaking wonderful that my hips move faster and faster.

“Yes,” I whisper, my hands in my hair now.

“Shit, Hazel,” I hear Crew say from what sounds like the far-off distance, but it does nothing to pull my focus away from our connection.

From this euphoria.

From this moment that I’m pretty sure I won’t remember tomorrow morning as my head fills with haze, with lust, with the need to let go.

“God, yes,” I moan, moving faster and faster.

“Fuck,” Crew gasps just as my hands fall from my hair and onto his chest, where I prop myself up and grind harder. “Ahh . . . hell,” he cries out. “Hazel, you’re going to make me come.”

I’m right there, his words miles away. I can feel my arousal spike to a crescendo. My orgasm climbing and climbing up the backs of my legs until it hits me right in the core. A wave of spasms takes control of me all at once as my back arches and my body takes over.

“Yes, yes . . . yes,” I cry out as I grind harder and harder until . . . “Oh my God,” I cry out, my orgasm pushing through me like a freight truck. Beneath me, I feel Crew go rigid as he comes as well, a groan falling past his lips, his fingers digging into my thighs.

We ride out our pleasure until we’re both sated, and then I roll off him in a heap of satisfaction.

Our breathing syncs together, and all I remember after that is hearing him say, “Now I have to go change my goddamn underwear.”





Chapter Eight





CREW





“Do I smell coffee?” Hazel asks, her voice groggy, the sheets wrapped tightly around her body. I know this, because not only is she in a cocoon, but I woke up freezing my ass off since she’d stolen all the blankets.

“Yeah,” I say, my head pounding with a roaring headache, my body aching from the cold, and a distant recollection of Hazel straddling me. Was that a dream?

She pushes the sheets down and reveals her face, her mascara faintly streaked down her cheeks. Her hand sticks out from the covers and her fingers wiggle about. Chuckling, I hand her my cup and then serve myself another cup from the room service tray I ordered the minute I woke up. While I waited for the food, I took a shower, hoping to warm up my body. It barely worked.

Carefully, Hazel sits up and brings the mug to her lips. “Jesus Christ, what happened last night?”

“I think there was rum involved,” I answer, my voice still groggy.

She presses her hand to her head. “What time is it?”

“Eight.”

“Eight?” she nearly shouts. “Why are we up so early?”

“I woke up because I was freezing my dick off.”

That’s when Hazel looks down at the covers and sheets wrapped around her. “Oh no. Did I steal all the blankets?”

“Yup.” I stir my coffee and then bring it close to my lips, ready to heat me up.

“Crap. I’m sorry, Crew.” She sits and groans. “Did we do a lot of walking last night?”

“I mean, a decent amount. Why?” I ask, as I catch the sheet fall down her shoulder, revealing the strap of her black bra. Something flashes in my mind, a glimpse of her in that black bra, on top of me.

Jesus, I dreamed about Hazel last night, straddling me, riding me. It almost feels as though it were real as another memory flashes past me, my hands gripping her thighs, her mouth parted open as she rides me.

I blink a few times, trying to wash away the image.

What was in that rum?

“My inner thighs are sore.” She sits up farther, and the blankets slip even more so her bra is completely exposed. And fuck, her tits are all plump and sexy . . . “Oh, shit. Sorry.” She quickly covers herself as my eyes snap up to hers.

She tilts her head, studying me.

I study her.

I imagine the confused look on her face is mirrored on mine.

“I slept in my underwear last night,” she states.

“So did I. Probably why I was freezing my ass off.”

She continues to look at me weirdly. I stare back and I have another flash of her grinding on top of me, but this time she’s coming and I’m coming and . . .

“Holy shit,” I say, just as her eyes widen as well.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, lifting up the covers and looking at her body and then back at me. “We didn’t . . . uh, you know . . .”

Lips pressed together, unsure of what to say, I give it some thought. Did we?

No. I woke up with boxers on. If we did it, I would have been naked.

Then why do I have such vivid images of her riding me?

I’m thinking this wasn’t a dream.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” I say in an unsure voice.