He crowds me against the wall and kisses me hard, one hand in my hair, the other on my hip.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he says against my mouth. “Watching you up there in those jeans.”
“God, you’re cocky.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No.”
He groans and his hands slide under my sweater, palms hot against my bare skin. I’m not wearing a bra and when his thumbs brush over my nipples I gasp.
“Fuck, JuJu.” His voice is wrecked. “You went to the game without a bra?”
“It’s uncomfortable with this sweater.”
“You’re trying to kill me.” He pushes the sweater up and over my head, tosses it somewhere behind us. Then his mouth is on my breast and everything in me is molten. “Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me at the next game?”
“Then I’ll tell you beforehand.”
“No.” His teeth graze my nipple and I arch into him. “Keep it a surprise. I like surprises.”
My jeans are next. He unbuttons them slowly, deliberately, sliding them down my legs with his hands touching every inch of newly exposed skin. When he reaches my ankles I step out of them and suddenly I’m standing in his entryway in nothing but my underwear while he’s still fully dressed.
“Not fair,” I say, reaching for his shirt.
“Life’s not fair, baby.” But he helps me, shrugging out of his clothes, leaving them pooled on the floor.
I run my hands over his chest, his abs, feeling the muscle shift under my palms. He’s beautiful, all lean strength and smooth skin, and I tell him so.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct. “Bedroom. Now.”
He carries me down the hall, kissing me the entire way, like he can’t stand not kissing me for even the few seconds it takes to walk.
“Lie back,” he says, setting me gently down on the bed and hooking his fingers in my underwear, sliding them down. His eyes track every inch of newly exposed skin, then he’s kneeling between my legs, spreading them wider, and I realize what he’s about to do.
“Romeo—”
“Do you know how many times a day I think about the way you taste?” He presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh and my breath catches. “About the sounds you make when I do this?—”
His mouth on me is devastating. He takes his time, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on my clit that makes my toes curl. When he slides two fingers inside me I nearly come off the bed.
“God, you’re so wet.” He sounds as wrecked as I feel. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“It’s all for you.”
He adds another finger and I can feel myself getting close, that coil of pressure building low in my belly. I try to pull back but he holds me down with his free hand, firm against my stomach.
“Don’t run from it,” he says against me. “Let me make you feel good.”
I do. The orgasm builds and builds until I’m shaking with it, my hands fisted in his hair, gaspinghis name.
He works me through it, gentler now, until I’m boneless and trembling.
“That’s one,” he says, kissing back up my body.
