Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(91)

He’s a magnificent mountain of a man, every line, sinew, and muscle sculpted with a master’s skill and attention to detail. Even his roughest edges appeal to me. The scars and nicks in his flesh from battles on the court. The hands callused from years of ball handling and the rigors of professional sport. I’m in awe of the physical specimen standing in front of me.

Once I’ve divested him of the shirt and pants, he stands in only briefs.

I’ve seen his dick. Held it. Choked on it, but he’s never been inside me. I don’t ask myself any of that silly nonsense about will he fit. Of course he’ll fit. It might be tight and I might feel like I’m going to burst with that big dick stretching me open, but he’ll fit. I’ll mold my body around him until the fit is so perfect, no woman after me will feel right again. I already suspect that after him, no one else will do.

“Have I told you that you’re a beautiful man, Mr. Ross?” I ask, running my eyes over the expertly-hewn ridges of his impressive body.

“Maybe.” He shrugs one heavily-muscled shoulder. “I can’t really think straight right now to remember. Not with this in front of me.”

He brushes his thumb over my pierced nipple, sending an electric charge from the sensitive tip to a pulsing spot between my legs. I draw a shaky breath. His thumb continues its descent, tracing the quivering muscles in my stomach, outlining the flower inked around my belly button, and gliding between my thighs. With our eyes locked, he pushes his thumb between the folds of my pussy and rubs my clit over and over in a seductive rhythm that literally buckles my knees. He loops an arm around my back to keep me upright, but his thumb never lets up on the sensual torture. When I’m sure I can’t take another second, he slides his thumb down and hooks it inside me.

“Shit,” I hiss. His thumb is like three of my fingers, and he doesn’t hold back, thrusting aggressively. “Kenan.”

His name stutters out on a needy breath. He walks me back the few steps to the bed and lays me down, hovering over me, bending to work first my pierced nipple between his lips and teeth, and then the other. He shifts, his thumb rubbing my clit again and three huge fingers inside me, stretching me, readying me. Tremors start at my toes, rip over my thighs and back, and explode when his hands bring me to orgasm with tender intent.

I’m sure my eyes roll back in my head. Color splashes across the backs of my eyelids—a kaleidoscope of bright lights with every wave of sensation. I can’t see a thing; the pleasure is so overwhelming. I blindly reach between us and take his dick in my hands.

“Lotus,” he chokes out. “Baby, wait.”

“I’m ready.” Lust-dazed, I open my eyes to meet his. “I’ve waited, we’ve waited so long. Please, Kenan.”

He reaches into the drawer beside his bed. Before he can put it on, I take the condom. The heat we’ve checked since our first touch melds our glances together. Hell, since the first time we saw each other, my body, my heart has wanted this. I wrest control, hovering over him, and slide the condom on, taking my time, lingering. Anticipation. Hunger. Frustration. I relish every emotion sketched on his handsome features.

“Lotus, come on,” he pants.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” I tease, grinning down at him.

Answering humor darkens his eyes. He pulls me over him, guides my hips into position. Our laughter dissolves, melted by the heat between our bodies. And then he’s inside of me, an astonishing initiation. A christening. At once a seal broken, even as we’re sealed together.

“Don’t move,” he rasps, gripping my hips and holding me in place, swallowing and closing his eyes. “Let me feel you for a second.”

I know what he means, why he says it. I savor my body’s first taste of him—a communion of flesh and bone and heart and soul. I’m perfectly still, but something I’ve never felt shakes me to the foundation. It’s invisible and undeniable. He reaches up and brushes my hair back from my face, a gesture so familiar now, so tender that tears prick my eyes. We haven’t exchanged the words. They’re the last frontier, but in my heart, I know. And his eyes echo the same.

The first undulation of my hips draws a gasp from us both.

“Jesus, babe,” Kenan says, shifting his hands from my hips to my back. “Do that again.”

I laugh down at him, and move again, a slow, deliberate roll of my hips. I clench my pussy around him.

Mine.

Let another woman even try.

I lift my chin, tighten my thighs at his hips, and roll again. Clench tighter, introducing his cock to its new mistress. I will possess this warrior under me. The man they call Gladiator taken captive by a girl half his size and a decade younger. I’m a girl he could crush, but everything in the way he looks at me says cherish. Says treasure. Says protect.

Says I’m his, too.

Mine, his eyes answer.

That look, this feeling, it’s a lasso, slithering over my shoulders, past my arms, squeezing me, keeping me in place. I’m not going anywhere.

I ride him so long, so hard the muscles of my legs and belly ache and tremble from the torque force twisting us together. And still he demands more, thrusting up hard, his hands reaching for my breasts, squeezing, pinching, rolling the nipples. His is a merciless sensual assault that I can’t withstand much longer.

“I want you to come again,” he says from beneath me. “Touch yourself.”