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Clay sinks to his knees, yanking my hips to the edge of the sink and slipping his tongue between my thighs.
The music and the sweat and the tiny space and Clay’s huge body overwhelm me.
My fingers twist in his hair, tugging as if I have a hope of controlling him. This.
It doesn’t matter because he knows what he wants.
For the first time in months, he’s here with me, completely. His body, his mind, his soul.
The blood sings in my veins as his fingers join his mouth. I can’t hold back a moan, but it’s loud enough outside that no one’s going to hear.
My knuckles whiten on the sink behind me as I arch up into him. The pleasure from his licking, from his huge fingers curling inside me, builds until it drowns out everything else.
There’s nothing to hear, or see, or smell. There’s only this feeling concentrated deep in my core.
I’m a painter but he’s a goddamned artist.
The pleasure and need contract until they’re one throbbing point.
I’m shattering around him, against him.
He groans, his fingers digging into my skin as I ride out the feelings. I’m crashing, breaking on him like a wave on the shore.
It takes seconds or minutes for awareness to come back. Somehow he’s standing. My forehead rests on his chest, the hammering of his heart echoing mine.
How did my skirt get up around my chest?
I’m reaching for it when Clay speaks.
“There’s a deal on the table. No one knows. Not even my agent.” I look up to see him brush a thumb across his damp mouth. “It’s for one year. In Denver.”
The world stops.
“Mid-market. Team’s pretty good, but I left in some shitty circumstances.”
I bite my lip, adrenaline seeping back into my veins and blending with the alcohol and the arousal and the release. “Are you going to sign?”
Clay leans back against the opposite wall. His legs brush mine. “I don’t know if I can take them to a win.”
A match strikes deep in my chest, a tiny flickering flame sheltered between my ribs. The honesty of his statement warms me more than his presence, more than the drinks or the heat of the club.
“Then teach them how to win for themselves.”
16
CLAY
“Ballsy of you to come back,” the new coach says. “You all know Clay.”
“Clay who?” Rookie drawls, and the guys laugh.
I’m back at practice, and though I’m expecting there to be some bumps, I’m sure we’ll be on the same page in no time. I’ve played with these guys, and I know how it goes.
I took the proposal to Harlan. He was surprised, but he’s not stupid. The deal wasn’t as good as what I’d get elsewhere, but I want to make this work. Convincing James took more effort, but I left that to Harlan—I’ve got zero interest in entertaining that self-centered prick.
Guess I was in a better mood than usual because of hooking up with Nova the other night at the club…
It was unplanned and sexy.
