He laughs and presses it harder against me. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
“Romeo—”
“Not yet.” He slides it lower, teases my entrance without pushing inside. Just lets me feel the vibration. “Want to tell you about goal three.”
“Now?” I’m practically panting. “You want to have a conversation now?”
“I want you to know what you do to me.” He barely pushes the toy inside and I arch off the bed with a halfway broken cry. “That hat trick goal? I knew I was going to score before I even took the shot.”
“How?”
“Because you were watching. Because I needed to see your face when it happened.” He works the toy deeper, “You know what you did? Right after?”
I remember sitting down hard, pressing my hands to my temples like I had a headache. “I had a minor breakdown.”
“You mouthed ‘you’re insane.’”
“You are insane.”
“About you.” He changes the setting again and I cry out louder this time, hips lifting off the bed. “Look how wet you’re getting the vibrator,” he says. “See that? You’re dripping down it.”
I whimper and try to close my legs but he holds them open with his free hand.
“No hiding. I want to see everything.” He circles the toy against me. “You know what you looked like after goal three? When you sat down hard in the stands?”
“Mortified?”
“Turned on. You were squirming in your seat. Pressing your thighs together.” The vibration intensifies. “Were you already getting wet then? In the arena? Thinking about what three meant?”
“Yes,” I gasp out.
“Fuck, that’s hot. My perfect girlfriend getting wet in public.” He slides the toy lower, teases my entrance. “Bet you were counting down the minutes until the game ended.”
“Math. I was doing math,” I admit. “Trying to figure out if… Jesus… three was even physically possible.”
He laughs, dark and pleased. “And?”
“Mmm not sure.”
“Let’s find out.” He pushes the toy inside, just barely, and the vibration there makes me arch completely off the bed. “That’s it. God, you should see your pussy. All pink and swollen and taking this so well.”
My hand shoots out blindly, needing something to anchor me, and I grab onto him without thinking. My fingers wrap tight and his whole body jerks forward.
“Easy, Ice Queen.” He’s half-laughing, but his hips buck into my fist. “Try not to rip it off, I need that to work for numbers four and five.”
“I can’t—it’stoo much?—”
“You can. You’re almost there. Come on, baby. Give me number three. Show me what you were thinking about in that arena.”
When it hits, it’s so intense I actually sob his name, grabbing his wrist not to stop him but to hold him there, right there, as waves of pleasure crash through me.
He works me through every aftershock, then turns off the toy and tosses it aside, immediately gathering me against him while I shake.
“Three,” he says against my temple. “Over halfway there. You’re so fucking good at this JuJu.”
“I can’t do two more.”
“Yes you can.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips. “You’re stronger than you think.”
