Thank fuck.
“Not today, at least.”
He’s joking, right? He has to be. Would he actually want to do that? To claim me there?
Swallowing hard, I push away my thoughts. His fingers and cock work inside me, driving me wild. He finds a rhythm where at all times, some part of him is in one of my holes.
My vision blurs, and all I can manage are these desire-laden incoherent sounds.
“I think taking your ass is something we should work up to,” he says, his voice tightening. “Fuck. You’re so tight back here,” he groans. “I can picture how good your ass will feel?—”
He’s close. Wiggling my backside, I urge him on. There’s not much more I can take. I’m dripping with sweat, my hair plastered to my face.
He presses a second finger into me.
“Oh. Fuck,” I cry out as he releases a guttural groan.
“Yes.” His cock jerks and pulses inside me, filling me with his release.
My heart beats fast in my chest, my lungs heaving with the effort to draw in air.
Slowly, Gabriel pulls out of me, drawing his fingers free at the same time. I collapse onto my side, uncaring that my leggings are still wrapped around my ankles or that my shirt is caught on the top of my bra, leaving my stomach bare.
I need a minute to catch my breath.
Tucking himself back into his pants, Gabriel rights his clothing, looking just as good and put together as he did before we ran this marathon of sex.
Meanwhile, I’m lying over here like a puddle of goo in the dirt.
“I hate you,” I tell him.
His lips curl into a grin, and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Hate you too, baby girl.”
My brows pull together. “Liar,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “Only when you lie too.”
25GABRIEL
“Anything?” I ask.
Julio shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
I mutter a curse and scrub my hands over my face. “What’s taking so long?”
“Should we deliver them ourselves?” Felix asks.
“No,” Julio answers. “Let’s give it a few more days.”
A couple of days is all he’s going to get. Holt has been a complete asshole at practice, not giving a shit about any of our upcoming games. He’s turned into a cancer for the team. His piss-poor attitude soaking into the other players in his fraternity like a disease.
“He’s ruining morale,” I say.
Julio’s expression is grim. “I know. Coach does too. But there’s not much we can do. He lost his spot, but until Jameia delivers the photos, that’s as much as we’re going to get. Not gonna lie,” he tells me. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to hold the position.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, irritation lacing my voice. “Do you honestly think that asshole is a better striker than me?”
He shakes his head. “No, you asshole. Calm down.”
