“They are.” Her eyes went soft as she peered at me. “The way you listen to me and catalogue the things I say . . . not everybody does that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I blessed the food, then we ate in silence, each of us thinking our own thoughts. We watched the sun sink until the sky was dark, and the stars were bright. Once the sun had fully set, and we were done with our food, I grabbed our empty dishes and set them outside the suite’s door. When I rejoined her on the balcony, we moved from the table to the outdoor sofa, and before I knew it, Soleil was in my lap.
I kissed her temple, then turned her face to me and kissed her lips while letting my hands explore her soft and curvy body. They traveled down and cupped her full, heavy breasts. My fingertips dug into her supple thighs.
She broke the kiss. “I need to feel more of you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She nodded her head as she climbed out of my lap.
I momentarily stared at Soleil as she lay naked in the middle of the bed in my suite. After I stroked myself a few times, I slid on the condom and joined her. Her legs spread open, and I moved between them. Fucking in the missionary wasn’t something I did regularly, because that position was way too intimate for the state of many of my sexual encounters. It was weird that I wanted her this way. I wanted her in this position, at this level of intimacy.
We kissed while my hand drifted to her apex and found the sensitive bundle of nerves housed there. I massaged, squeezed, and caressed her clit, making her moan and purr. She was so fucking intoxicating. A part of my brain kept encouraging me to hold some of myself back because if I wasn’t careful, I would give too much of me to her. I wanted her to have it, though. She had me on some pussy-whipped shit, and I hadn’t even gotten the pussy. The thoughts were too prevalent. I needed to at least feel her before I lost my mind behind her. I moved my fingers from her clit and slid in inch by inch. Her body stretched to accommodate me, gripping me because the fit was so snug.
“Fuck,” I said in a soft moan that floated right into her ear. “You feel so fucking good.” I wasn’t typically the most vocal lover—preferring to indulge in “inside thoughts”—but Soleil had me wanting to moan on repeat. I wanted to purr in her fucking face like a spoiled kitten or some shit.
I bucked my hips, sinking further into nirvana. She raised her shoulders from the bed with her mouth open and waitingwith an unspoken request. I gave her my tongue, and she sucked it while I plunged into her over and over.
My hands found her hair, grabbing locks and pulling roughly. I drove into her, making her release the grip she had on my tongue to moan out my name like it was her own personal affirmation.
After years of using sex primarily as a release, having Soleil underneath me, so open and responsive, was heady as hell. I slid my hands under her ass, which opened her wider and allowed me to fall even deeper into her. She panted, her breathing erratic, and her wails bouncing off every wall as I pulverized a different spot inside her. Her whines and whimpers were like music to my ears, like motivation from my coaches.
And then she was cumming. After a few additional minutes of pounding her, my release raced out of me and into the condom.
I lay right beside her on the bed, trying to catch my breath, and put my mind back together. Whether Soleil knew it or not, she was mine. Whether it had been four days or four months, she was mine. Whether she tried to leave the island and walk back into the life that was waiting for her at home, . . . she was mine.
Day Five
After two rounds of early morning sex, Soleil and I donned the fluffy, plush robes provided by the resort and sat on the balcony, watching the sunrise. We only separated to shower and prepare for the day. Once we were both dressed, we met at the Coastal Cantina for breakfast.
“I wish we could go back to your suite and stay boo’d up all day, but duty calls.” She took a spoonful of her berry yogurt parfait.
“What you got on your schedule today?”
“Work. The city has some summer events coming up, and they always ask for Bison players to come out and interact with the kids—Taste of Chicago, The Bud Billiken Parade—stuff like that. I reserved a private poolside cabana with high-speed wi-fi for this morning to send emails, have video meetings, and make calls as needed. What about you?”
“We’re giving a stretching and weightlifting clinic for the fans and donors.” I shook my head. “I already feel like this is gonna be a fail. Oversized egos and heavy objects? Somebody’s gonna feel challenged and want to prove that they have the biggest nuts. Somebody’s gonna tear, rip, or strain something. The paramedics’ll probably end up being called.”
“Wow. Just don’t let it be you, all right?”
I gave her a grin. “Shit, I don’t even know how I’mma get a weight off the rack with the way you spent last night and this morning drainin’ me.”
“You liked it,” she told me, trying to hide her blush.
“Damn sure did. Please do the exact same thing to me tonight, Sunshine.”
The resort had several gyms on property. Due to space limitations, the players and the fans had been broken up into groups and assigned to the different gyms. As far as resort gyms went, the one I was assigned to was nice. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean, so there was that. The downside was that, when I arrived, Wilcox was already there. Iwas in a good place. The last thing I wanted to do was deal with his shit. All I could do was hope that, for once in his life, he kept his fat mouth shut.
As the fans filed in, I noticed that the group assigned to this particular gym was heavily feminine. One of the team’s trainers walked in with Stuart Robinski at his side. Robinski came and stood between Wilcox and me. The players, the trainer, and the fans were all present and accounted for. It was time to start.
Dave, the trainer, began his opening spiel. “Good morning. Thank you all for joining us. Today’s clinic is gonna cover the importance of flexibility, stretching to keep muscles in their optimal condition, proper weightlifting techniques, and recovery.”
A brunette with a deep tan raised her hand, then spoke without being called on. “Are the players gonna stand behind us and . . . spot us?”
“We’re not at the point yet,” Dave pointed out. “First, we need to demonstrate stretching techniques.”
