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“Yeah, pretty much. If the seats are open and they haven’t sold them, I can usually get them either free or for next to nothing.” He covers my hand on his knee and drags his long fingers along my skin. “These seats, in particular, belong to my Uncle Alex. Preston’s mom couldn’t make it tonight, so they had to bail on the game. She’s a diehard basketball fan.”
“Yeah, I know who she is. Bex is obsessed with Coach. She wants to be like her when she grows up.”
He chuckles. “My Aunt Charlotte is probably one of the coolest women alive.”
“I don’t disagree. I’d love to meet her sometime.”
“Speaking of meeting my family,” he starts, chewing on his bottom lip. “My parents and sister want to meet you. I told my mom and Chloe that you read their books. They want me to bring you by the house, you know, if you want to. No pressure or anything.”
“Of course.” My voice reaches a higher octave, the excitement radiating from me. “They’re important to you, and you’re important to me. I’d love to meet them.”
“They’re supposed to come to my game next weekend. It’s in Boston. I know it’s a hike, but maybe you and Bex can sit with them instead of hiding all by yourselves.”
I snort, smacking him lightly on his arm. “We don’t hide at your games. Bex just likes to sit in a particular spot along the ice. Nothing wrong with that.”
“There’s no surprise why Preston likes her.”
I raise my eyebrow in curiosity. “Oh, and why is that?”
He flashes one of his boyish smirks that do unspeakable things to me. “Because he’s a pain in the ass, too.”
“So are you,” I challenge.
He hooks his arm around my back and hugs me against his muscular chest. It’s like having Bruce Banner wrap his arms around you when he’s in Hulk form. Drake is a wall of man, all hard lines and smooth ridges that weakens me every time. This simple touch causes my entire body to tremble. My nipples are like glass poking through my Lakers jersey.
Drake smacks a kiss on top of my head, easing up his grip on me so I can relax my back against the chair. Then, he tugs at my jersey and whispers into my ear, “I wish this was my jersey you were wearing… and nothing else.”
I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. “How about I try yours on after the game?”
As the buzzer sounds to signify the end of the fourth quarter, Drake gives me a wicked grin that makes my core clench.
Standing in the middle of Drake’s bedroom, I watch as his eyes travel over my bare thighs. Dressed in his jersey that falls down to my knees, and nothing else, I tug at the seam to slide it up my legs. The navy and white fabric scratch my peaked nipples. It’s not as comfortable as a basketball jersey, though after tonight, I don’t want to wear anyone’s number on my back other than his.
“How do I look?” My voice is low and sensual.
“Perfect.” He licks his lips, leaning his head against his headboard, his long legs stretched out on the bed. His hand moves to his crotch, and he cups his massive erection. “Now, take it off for me. I’d rather see my jersey on my floor… and you naked.”
Taking my time, I sway my hips to a silent beat and stroll over to the bed, slowly inching the fabric up my stomach and finally over my head. I drop it on the floor behind me, my body on display for Drake.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Drake hisses.
His eyes rake over every inch of my body, and if it were anyone else, I would feel self-conscious. But since it’s Drake, my breathing is even, there’s not an ounce of hesitation or nervousness flowing through me. He gets on his knees and crawls to the edge of the bed reaching out to touch me.
I step forward and gasp when his hand makes contact with my stomach. His warmth leeches into my skin producing an overwhelming sensation that goes straight to my pussy. An electric pulse hums between us, the air so thick with sexual tension and desire I can hardly breathe.
“Drake,” I whisper as his hand dips between my legs. He slides his finger along my slit, teasing me as he stares into my eyes and makes slow, deliberate movements. “Mmm…” I can’t even get out the words when his long finger slides inside me. It doesn’t take much to fill me up. My tightness compared to his big fingers easily takes me to the edge.
He’s still dressed in the Sixers jersey and jeans he wore to the game. So, I lift the shirt up his rock- hard stomach and push it over his head. Next is the white tee he has on underneath. Once I have him shirtless, I run my hand over his sculpted abs. The combination of his fingers sliding in and out of me paired with the desire written all over his face takes me one step closer to finding my release.
