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“Just do it,” she demanded, and I tucked my chin into my chest and pushed at her hips nearly violently to stop myself from thrusting on body command.
“This is not the kind of thing you just do, Win. It’s just not.”
She lifted her head then, turning to look at me over her shoulder and pushing up to her hands in the bed. Her tits swung out in front of her, and I nearly fucking died.
“I’m on birth control. I’m not a total idiot.”
“Okay,” I rationalized, categorizing the lovers I’d had recently and their respective timing to my last STI test. “I haven’t had sex without a condom since I was seventeen.” She narrowed her eyes, and I laughed. “I know. I was a fucking idiot. I think I’ve slept with one woman since my last test, and…Jesus, Win. This is the last goddamn conversation I want to have to have with you right now.”
At once, she reared back, my naked hips meeting hers as my cock touched the very end of her. Her eyes never left mine, and it was over.
The thinking. The analyzing. The thought of anything other than us and how we felt connected in the most intimate way possible.
Goddamn, it was like nothing I’d ever felt in my entire life.
Endless women, revolving nights, everything I’d ever wanted at my fingertips—none of it had felt as good as this.
And because of that…I felt ruined.
One thrust, two, on through dozens and dozens until sweat ran off of my chest and pooled on the soft curve of her naked back, I moved inside her, our sounds mingling with each other’s in what sounded like a rehearsal of music—a little off, but mostly in sync, the rhythm and magic of the combination completely undeniable.
We played for hours, trying different songs and getting sweatier and closer with every note.
I went until I couldn’t anymore, unwilling to stop until the very last moment.
I didn’t even think I pulled out of her before falling asleep, but I couldn’t be sure, because when I woke up in the morning, she, and every single piece of her luggage, was gone.
Sayonara, Miami.
The water of the ocean glittered and glistened, and palms swayed in the wind as I looked out the window to the shrinking world below.
I’d gone to Miami expecting heat—Florida sun, choking humidity, hell, even boob sweat—but I’d had no idea it would turn into one of the hottest, most erotic, roughest—in the best kind of way—sexual experiences I had ever had in my life.
Sex with Wes had been…well, there were no words to really describe it. A shiver racked my body at just the thought of it.
I’d woken up this morning deliciously sore, every inch of my body remembering where he had touched me, kissed me, turned me inside out.
Everything about it had been good—otherworldly good.
And then I’d panicked.
Because it was bad.
Cataclysmically.
We’d crossed a line that I wasn’t sure we could navigate back from. We were better at being angry than awkward, and I was afraid, now that the initial tension was gone, we’d be stuck floundering in the latter. We couldn’t go back, I didn’t like it here, and going forward seemed horrendously ominous.
Rationally, I knew it was for the best if we never treaded toward those dangerous territories that led to us naked and doing things to one another that no one within the Mavericks organization should ever find out about. He was a player, a many-woman man, and about the least likely candidate for a ready-made family I could think of. So I got myself out of bed, packed my suitcases, and headed for the lobby to find another room or a taxi or anything that took me away from facing the consequences of my actions.
Unfortunately, irrationally, my body craved him. I wanted a repeat. And a three-peat. And a four-peat. My mind had already forayed into the future, organizing each and every encounter with a whole laundry list of please-do-to-me scenarios. And the stubborn part of me contemplated how fucking stupid it was to go crawling into the night.
So, instead of leaving, I’d sat down on a couch in the lobby and waited. Waited for the first staffer or team member to make their way down with the intent to head for the airport. And when Frankie Hart had done just that, I’d grabbed a ride with him, climbed the stairs to the team plane, and waited to face my fate.
The private jet full of Mavericks and managers and Wes climbed higher and higher, nose to the sky and ass trying like hell to catch it. The pilot announced over the intercom that we’d be at altitude within the next five minutes, and too embarrassed by the fact that I’d up and disappeared to look into Wes’s eyes, I chose that moment to bury my face in my laptop and try to focus on everything but him—Mitchell’s recent PT evaluation, Bailey’s monthly physical, Franklin’s post-op report after undergoing an ACL repair.
But my mind wouldn’t stop making illegal U-turns back to the man sitting across the aisle. I could hear the goddamn GPS now, each time my eyes cut to the side, screaming to turn around when possible.
I’m fucking trying here, lady.
From my periphery, I could see Wes’s knee bounce in rhythmic movements, and every time his fingertips swiped the page of the newspaper in his lap, my toes curled over the memory of what those fingertips felt like caressing my skin.
Rough but tender—carefully concise. The man had obviously used all of his promiscuous years wisely.
Like an uncontrollable wildfire, a flash of heat consumed my body from head to toe, and my cheeks flushed as more memories flooded my brain…
His lips placing openmouthed kisses down my chest. His hands gripping my breasts. His husky voice whispering wicked things into my ear. His mouth moving down my belly until it reached the apex of my thighs. The way I couldn’t hold back any moan, any whimper as his lips and tongue consumed me into an orgasm…
Oh, my God. Get it together, Win. Now is not the time for erotic daydreams.
And seriously, why was it so hot on this goddamn plane?
I fiddled with the air nozzle above me until it was blasting on high, directly at my face. I had to cool down. I had to focus on anything but last night. I looked out the window and realized we were already miles and miles away from Miami. Water and beaches had turned into the mindless monotony of swamp and urban wilderness. I was losing it, truly losing it—so lost in my own dirty mind that I hadn’t even registered the last few dozen minutes.
Holy moly, did anyone else notice how distracted I was?
I moved my gaze back to the cabin, surreptitiously glancing around to see what everyone else was doing. Most of the guys already had earbuds in and were preparing to sleep during the flight, while some chatted quietly with one another. My eyes continued to move across the numerous heads filling the spacious cabin, until they were looking directly across the aisle and into a set of emerald-gold eyes I knew on a biblical level.
Wes’s gaze locked with mine, and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if he was thinking all the things I was thinking. Did he regret last night, or did he want a repeat? Was he as consumed with the wicked memories of us in my hotel room as I was? Did he hate me for leaving, or was he grateful?
God, we had been so reckless, so uninhibited, and I had never experienced anything like that in my entire life. I had never needed to feel someone so much that I found myself savoring every bite, every moan, every single deep, penetrating thrust forward. It was like I had been an entirely different person last night, like someone else had taken control and allowed me to feel all of the things I had always wanted to feel during sex.
Wordlessly, we stared at one another, searching for answers in each other that we’d yet to be able to find within ourselves. It was the first moment of eye contact we’d had since he’d fallen asleep inside of me last night, and I wasn’t really sure what either one of us was saying.
And then, he averted his eyes and pulled out his cell phone. Thinking that was all the indication of his feelings I wanted to witness, I turned back to my computer as he tapped across the screen. I couldn’t stop the roiling sour mass in my gut until my phone vibrated with a notification on my Outlook Messenger app.
He’s messaging me.
Wes: Are you okay?
Was I okay? Fuck if I knew. But it was a little late to change anything about it if I wasn’t.
Still.
This was still a game to him. It had to be. If it weren’t, he would have said something about me leaving. He would have said something else, anything else, before asking if I was okay.
It’s a game, I assured myself.
And there was no way I’d even consider letting him win.
Me: Yeah. I’m okay. Are you okay?
Wes: I’m okay.
See? My brain taunted. He’s fine.
Me: Okay. Good.
Nice, intelligent response, Win. It was like our attraction to one another made us stupid.
Wes: Do you regret last night?
Seriously buried in the land of everything’s-fine-this-was-a-game and headed straight for I’m-cool-as-a-fucking-cucumber, his question took me by surprise. Unintentionally, I looked across the aisle and met his curious yet irritatingly neutral eyes. I wanted to know his answer to that question before I gave him my own—a smart woman’s form of self-preservation—but I also didn’t want to be a coward. If I wanted someone to be open and honest with me, I had to do the same for them.
Without giving myself any more time to think about it, I shook my head, just once, and a soft, knowing smile graced his perfectly kissable mouth.
