“Love…” he warns when I swivel my hips again. “I need to come. Need to fill you up.”
“Then do it, Gavin. Give it to me. Fill me with your cum. I want to feel it dripping out of me.”
He growls, then places his feet on the oversized chair and grabs my wrists, putting my hands behind my back as he takes over from the bottom. He drives up into me fast, my titsbouncing so hard it almost hurts, but I don’t care. I want this too damn much, which is why when he leans forward and captures my nipple between his teeth, I explode.
“Yes, love, that’s it,” he says through gritted teeth as he continues to fuck me through it. “Squeeze my cock with your beautiful cunt. It belongs to me, remember?”
My whole body is racked with shudders as wave after wave hits me. Just when I think I’m done, another one crashes into me, and it’s enough to set him off, too. He spills into me with one last hard thrust, and I’m done. Completely fucking spent. I crumple against him, and he holds me tightly, running his hand over my hair as we struggle for air. We sit like that for a long time, taking in what just happened.
“Thank you.”
“For the orgasm? You’re welcome.”
I roll my eyes, which are growing heavier by the second. “No, Mr. Annoying. I meantthank youfor the room. You have no idea how much this means to me, Gavin. It’s… Nobody has ever done anything like this for me. So, thank you. Thank you…”
For loving me.
I leave the words unspoken, letting them hang between us.
He swallows hard, and I swear he hears every one of them as he says, “You’re welcome, love.”
It’s the last thing I hear before I drift off to sleep, feeling happier than I have in a long, long time, and it’s all because of him.
CHAPTER 21
LOCKE
“Yo, Locke, Coach wants to talk to you in his office before you go.”
I nod at Frederic to let him know I heard him, then set my phone in my cubby and head toward Coach’s office. We just won another home game, and while I’m feeling damn good about that, they always mess me up a bit when they’re in the afternoon. Throws my schedule off just enough to make me question what time it is when we get done.
I bump fists with a few of our staff as I pass by, everyone riding a high after beating Vegas—our number one rival team—then knock on the door.
“Hey, Whitlocke,” Coach Smith says as he looks up from his desk. “Come on in.”
Not too long ago, Owen Smith was in the same position I’m in now. He was the “old guy” playing for the Carolina Comets, and he wasn’t looking to get traded and move yet again. He wanted stability. So, he went out and got it himself—he retired.
I don’t plan on doing that just yet, but I still admire the guy for knowing when to hang it up. Rumor is he did it for his wife because she worked for the team, but I don’t know that for sure.It could have just been Lawson running his mouth again, though he does have a direct link to the Comets, his brother being their goalie and all.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk, and I do just that. “Afternoon games blow.”
I chuckle. “Take it you don’t miss them?”
“Not a chance. I mean, I miss playing, don’t get me wrong, but I also don’t miss beating my body up every day.”
He’s not lying about that. This game is physically taxing in ways most people can’t even fathom. The teams release injury reports at the end of the season, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg most times.
“But that’s not why I called you in here.”
“Why did you?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach. “Just wanted to check in—old guy to old guy, you know?”
Translation: How are you holding up out there?
“So,” he says, “how do you feel the season is going?”
“Not too bad.”
