The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(78)

And here I am again. But at least, in some senses, I have a choice to make. I can back away, try to keep things neutral again and maybe make the rest of the trip awkward, or I can go all in. I can let my heart fall and tumble for this man and deal with the pain later.

As his lips move across mine, I realize there’s only one clear-cut choice.





“Fuck, Hazel,” Crew says, as he moves in and out of me, the hot water of the shower spraying down on his back. “I’ll never get used to how good you feel, how good we feel together.”

He has both of my hands pinned above my head while my legs wrap around his waist. The sheer power of his thrusts shows me just how fit—how strong—he is while he holds me against the shower wall, bringing us both to the brink.

“I’m going to come,” he says just as my body pushes over and wracks with greedy need, convulsing around his large cock until I’m completely sated.

He lowers me, making sure I’m steady, before he lets go and presses his forehead to mine.

“So good.” He breathes heavily.

“That was my first shower sex,” I say, feeling a little shy.

“Really?” he asks, surprised.

“Yes. How many times have you had shower sex?”

He gives it a thought and then he chuckles. “I guess only once, and it wasn’t even sex, just oral.”

“Well, then, I guess that was a first for both of us.”

He drags his thumb down my cheek. “We took each other’s shower virginity.”

That makes me laugh out loud, and he takes that moment to kiss my neck for a few seconds before turning off the shower.

Because he loves taking care of me, he wraps a warm, plush towel around me first and then dries off with his, only to wrap it around his waist like an expert. He then maneuvers me around him, grabs another small hand towel, and starts drying my hair with it.

“I’ve always loved your hair,” he admits. “I remember being fascinated with the color when I was younger. I didn’t grow up with many redheads, and the kids I did know with red hair had a more fiery red, not the warm color of your hair. It set the standard for all the girls who passed through my life.”

“Did you ever go out with a redhead?” I ask as he picks up my brush and starts brushing my hair carefully, almost as if he’s scared to tug too hard.

“Never. They never matched up to you. It would have felt as though I was chasing after something I could never have.”

When he says things like that, it gives me hope, makes me think that there could be more. But then I remind myself of our conversation in the snow, his future laid out with me nowhere in sight.

“What about you?” he asks. “Ever date a guy with brown hair?”

“Yes,” I say, making him frown. I chuckle. “Sorry, but your hair isn’t really unique.”

“Ouch, Haze. You could make me believe that I’m unique in my own way.”

“Why would I inflate your ego more than it is? You know you’re hot, that you’re a stud, that you have the body of a god, and that your dick is massively impressive.”

“Massively, huh?” He smirks, and I reach out and pinch his side playfully. “Don’t let me stop you there. Keep the compliments coming.”

“I’m not sure I’d be able to squeeze around you in this bathroom if I inflate your ego any more than I have.”

“We can go into the bedroom, if that’s better.” His smirk just about does me in. God, I love him.

I only wish he felt the same way.

“Uh-oh, you thought of something to bring down the mood.”

“Huh?” I ask.

He presses his finger between my eyebrows. “There’s a crinkle there, which means you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t be thinking about.”

Trying to keep it light, I say, “You’re right. I was trying to figure out how to sneak out of here so I can go hang out with Fritz at the bar. His lederhosen had my nipples perking up. And his eyes—such a brilliant blue.”

Crew’s eyes narrow. “He’s actually good-looking, so this isn’t a joke to me.”

I laugh. “Ah, jealous?”

“Yes, yes, I am. And I have no problem saying it. Sorry to say, Haze, but you’re stuck with me.”

He removes my towel and wraps it around my waist, but not before getting in a good feel of my breasts. Of course.

“So, what should we do for the rest of the night?” he asks, securing my towel.

“I think we should break into the Schneeballen.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about those. Hell yeah, we can order some milk—”

“Milk? You really drink milk?”

Like a complete douchebag, he flexes his arms and says, “You don’t get muscles like these without it.”

“You can, actually.”

“Anyway . . . we can get some drinks brought up and play some Christmas music, eat some Schneeballen, and then you can eat my balls. How does that sound?”

I tilt my head back and laugh. “All sounds great but the last part. Not going to eat your balls. Sorry, dude.”

“Lick them?”

I glance over my shoulder as I walk out of the bathroom. “If you’re lucky.”