The Trouble With Quarterbacks(90)

I know it’s Logan, my fiancé, my best mate, for heaven’s sake! But my body doesn’t seem to catch on. It’s pumping adrenaline through my veins like I need to prepare to escape. I take a step back so I can put a bit more space between us, and in a flash, his hand reaches out and he grasps me by the neck.

I yelp, and he loves it. He tugs me toward him until I’m under the stream too, but there’s no water in my eyes. He’s blocking it with his head so that it rolls down our shoulders and stomach. We’re not touching, but we’re a hair’s breadth away. His soft grip stays on my neck, and his thumb brushes back and forth over my quickening pulse.

“Maybe I’ll let you put the lingerie on later,” he says.

His dark eyes are so hot I feel charred.

He’s looking down at me like he’s concocting all sorts of wicked ideas in his head.

“But first, I need to clean off.”

He nods to the side of the shower, toward the niche where we keep our shampoo and soap bottles.

“Get me some body wash.”

No politeness in his tone. How rude! I shouldn’t listen, but I do, because…well, look at the man.

I get some soap and don’t wait for him to tell me what to do. I know what he wants. I start at his broad shoulders, dragging my hands over his arms. At times, it feels like there’s so much of him compared to me, like I’ll be here for days washing him off. With arms that size, sheesh. I get some more soap and move to his chest. He winces gently when I brush my hand over the bruise at his ribs and then I bend down to kiss the skin, letting him know I’m sorry he’s hurt.

I know he likes my lips on him. I can see it for myself, the way he starts to harden the farther I go down. The soap slides down his rippling abs, coating his skin as I bend lower. I kiss a trail down to his hips, and then gently, I touch him, soaping up his hardness, pretending to clean him off.

It’s really a guise. I don’t need to be nearly this thorough. After two passes, one could argue that he’s properly clean down there, but I have no plans on stopping. He doesn’t say a word as he watches me continue. I look up and he eclipses the shower light, casting me in shadow. He looks like the devil.

I pause for a moment, and his mouth twitches.

“Keep going,” he instructs brusquely.

Oh, tsk tsk. Someone needs to learn a little patience.

I stand up and pump more soap into my hands, then I bend back down to wash his thighs and calves. His muscles stiffen under my soft touch and I know he’s growing antsy. I’m not doing what he wants me to do, but he needs to be clean, doesn’t he? I wash his feet and his toes, and this is really a fun little game I’m playing. I’m even smiling to myself when suddenly he bends down to grip me under my arms and hauls me up against the marble wall.

I go completely still as he pushes himself between my legs—not so nicely, I might add—leaving me no choice but to wrap them around his hips.

“I don’t have the patience for you sometimes,” he says, bending to kiss my neck. He’s in a frenzy as he moves lower, taking the tip of my breast between his teeth.

Ow!

Punishment, I see.

In return, I drag my nails down his back. No more gentle caresses for the man who’s had a hard night on the field. If he wants to play rough, so will I.

It feels like a sauna in our shower with him pushed up against me, but the cool marble balances it out. My head falls back as his mouth moves to my other breast, and then his hands seem to be everywhere—neck, breasts, waist, hips—before they move lower. He touches me between my legs, swirling circles and working me up, but just like I did to him, he doesn’t continue nearly long enough before he takes himself in his hands and guides his length inside me.

I’m a little too tight, not quite ready for him, especially at this angle, but I know we’re still playing the punishment game because he doesn’t ease up as my fingers tighten on his arms, warning him that he’s walking a dangerous tightrope.

He presses into me slowly as his body crushes mine. Our mouths find each other, and we kiss rough and hard and passionately, like this might be it for us, like this shower will be the last time I feel him this way. He pushes in farther and my thighs quake.

“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth, but it’s not a delicate confession. It’s a volatile truth: I love you and it feels like too much sometimes. I love you to an extreme.

I know how he feels. My arms tighten around his neck as he starts to pump into me faster. I hold on for dear life, like at any moment he could be stripped away from me. Loving Logan is as painful as it is painless. He’s the anchor in my life, the partner I want by my side forever.

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

“Say it again,” he insists, like he’s hungry for it.

“I love you,” I tease, kissing his cheek.

“You’re mine,” he warns, though the softness in his gaze belies his rough tone.

“Well, of course I am.” I laugh. “Who else would put up with me?”





I hope you enjoyed meeting Candace, Logan, and their crazy friends! If you laughed your butt off and want more hilarity, be sure to continue reading for an excerpt from my #1 bestselling romantic comedy THE FOXE & THE HOUND.





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