First Down (Beyond the Play, #1)(38)

And this little minx just smiles, licking at her lips. The hand between her legs is still moving. I practically growl as I haul her up onto the bed, sweeping the poor stuffed animal onto the floor. I kiss her, tasting myself on her tongue, as I rip down her leggings and panties in one go. I lick into her mouth, relishing in her breathy moan, and sink two fingers into her. My thumb finds her clit, rubbing in tight, rapid circles.

She comes on my fingers before long, soaking them in her slick. When I pull them out of her warm cunt, I tap my fingers against her lips; she opens her mouth, licking her own wetness. I replace my fingers with my lips, kissing her until we’re both breathless, and finally we curl up on the bed together.

I kick off my jeans and pull my t-shirt over my head, and she does the same with her leggings. She’s about to take off the jersey, but I stop her. “I love seeing you in this.”

She presses her face against my bare chest, kissing my tattoo. “Oh yeah?”

“Sexy as hell, babe.”

“You’re the sexy one. I was thinking about sucking you off the whole game.”

I play with the hem of the jersey. “Seriously?”

“You’re in command on the field. It’s hot, trust me.”

After a few minutes, our breathing evens out. I like having my legs tangled with hers. Her bed is a twin, so my feet are nearly hanging over the edge, but I’m making it work. The exertion from the game, not to mention the orgasm, is catching up to me. I stifle a yawn with my hand as I pat the floor, looking for Albert.

She sits up a bit, looking down at me. “James?”

I set Albert on the bed next to us. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if I messed up anything with your dad.”

I’m shaking my head before she can say anything else. “Don’t. I handled it.”

“I don’t think he liked me being there.”

“He was just surprised.”

Her brow knits together. “Does he know we’re not really dating?”

“Now he does,” I say, even though that makes my chest hurt. “He was just concerned about it, but I explained.”

“But why would he be concerned if you’re with someone? I mean, if it was real, wouldn’t he be happy for you?”

“You know I don’t date.”

“Because of football.”

I nod. “He helped me make that decision.”

Part of me wants to explain further, but I’m coming off a high, and the thought of getting that real, even if it’s with Bex, makes me nervous.

She continues to trace the lines of my tattoo. “Your brother has the same one.”

“Yeah. Seb too. We got them together a couple summers ago.”

“It looks familiar,” she says. “What is it?”

“It’s the Celtic knot. You know, Callahan. Irish roots.”

“It looks good on you.” She kisses it softly. “I know I didn’t want to stay over last time. But you will, right?”

I kiss her cheek before saying, “Show me your photography.”

She blinks, eyes widening. “If you really want?”

I hold her gaze. “I do. I was going to ask before, but full disclosure, I was too fucking hard.”

She bursts out laughing, slipping out of bed, and grabs a folder from the desk. She settles back against me, and I wrap my arm around her middle. I’m grinning; I love making her laugh.

“I’ve been taking some portraits of the diner patrons, that’s always good practice. And I’ve been looking at angles in architecture,” she says.

I stroke her arm. “Let me see them.”

She opens the folder, which I see now is filled with proofs. “I have more on my computer, obviously,” she says. “Printing is expensive. But it’s helpful to see what the vibe of the physical photo is like, you know?”

“No,” I admit, which makes her laugh. “But I love hearing you talk about it.”

We flip through the stack slowly. She explains how she took each one, and I think I ask semi-intelligent questions, because I get her rambling about stuff like aperture and white balance and bokeh. It’s adorable, even when she gets overly excited and accidentally elbows me in the face.

“Crap,” she says, turning my face from side to side. “Are you okay?”

“Just fine,” I lie, kissing her. In truth, she’s stronger than she looks, because my cheek is stinging. “Tell me about this one.”

I point to a photograph of somewhere I recognize; it’s the great hall in McKee’s library. The table looks familiar, because it’s the one we sit at when we go there to study. My laptop is open on the table next to hers; our jackets hang on the backs of two chairs.

She blushes, tracing over the photograph. “I took it when you went to go call your sister.”

I snort as the memory comes back to me. “She was afraid she accidentally ate a pot brownie.”

“Did she?”

“Honestly, I’m still not sure. Coop thinks she did.” I hold up the photograph. Seeing evidence of our time together makes me feel warm inside, like I just drank a huge gulp of hot cider. “You’re seriously talented.”

“Do you want it?” She ducks her gaze down. “I mean, if you want it, you can have it.”