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His breath was hot on my neck. “Tell me, Lennon. Tell me to take you. Tell me you want me inside you. Tell me you are mine. You belong to me.”
I panted as he dipped in and out of me. The passion built between my legs as he made me wetter with each perfect stroke, grazing my clit, then twisting inside my entrance. I could feel the control leaving my body as if he siphoned it from me.
“Tell me,” he growled against my ear.
“I’m yours. I’m fucking yours.” I sank on his hand. “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t belong to anyone else,” I moaned.
He bit along my neck. I leaned into his chest as his fingers slid in and out of me.
“What are you doing to me?” I whispered.
“Making sure you know who you belong to.” His fingers withdrew and I gulped for air. I kicked the jeans off my ankles, and stepped away from the door, turning to face him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing his lips to me. He was so much taller that I stood on the tips of my toes to press my point. “I might belong to you, but do you belong to me?”
His eyes closed and I could feel the hardness of his shaft press against my leg through his jeans. He wanted me as badly as I wanted him. But that didn’t answer my question. Physically, we always wanted each other. But I knew that it couldn’t keep going like this for me anymore.
“Because that’s the only way, Wes.”
I didn’t intend to have a relationship conversation. Not after only a few days. Not half naked. And not while I was ready to come. But at some point, my body had to let my brain have a say in this. And the deal was I would give myself to this man. I’d be his whore. I’d be dirty. I’d suck him, kiss him, please him. But only if he belonged to me too.
“Are you giving me an ultimatum?” He pulled back to study my eyes.
I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m offering myself in return for you. I can’t be like this with you if you’re like this with other women. I swear I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m not like that. I-I just can’t think of leaving you and then you’re with someone else.” My words trailed off.
It was a stab to the heart picturing Wes kissing one of his super models. Or taking her to bed and whispering in her ear the same things he said to me. It made my stomach turn. I’d rather walk away than know I wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t share what we had.
“It’s never been like this with other women,” he whispered, dipping to kiss my throat.
“Then tell me, too,” I urged. “You belong to me.” I knew I was risking everything. If he said no, I’d have to walk out this door, and I wouldn’t be coming back. All of it would be over. I’d start living life again like the girl I was before Wes touched me.
His fingers slid between my legs again and I groaned. He fell to his knees and I almost stepped back. I almost told him his seduction wouldn’t work. I needed words. I needed promises. But his fingers felt so good, he held me in place, playing my folds with electric strokes. My hands ran through his brown hair. I needed him to steady me. He was knocking me off my axis again—like he always did.
He looked up at me. “You fucking own me, Doc. I’m yours. Now stop talking so I can make you come.”
His tongue plunged between my legs and I rocked forward, feeling the bliss wash over me. Wes Blakefield was mine. And he had the most perfect way of showing it.
15
Wes
I looked at the physical therapist expectantly. “So, what do you think?”
“I’d say it’s a miracle. I’ve never had a player recover from surgery so quickly.” He looked at my right hand in awe.
I balled it into a fist and wiggled each finger.
I grabbed a football from a basket in the corner and spun it in my hand. “Catch,” I called as I tossed it to him.
He bobbled the catch, but laughed. “You had surgery two and a half weeks ago?”
I nodded. I didn’t want to draw attention to the timeline. The rapid recovery would sound better if it weren’t so damn rapid. But it was what I needed. I had three days until the next game, and I needed medical clearance and my starting spot back.
“So you ready to sign off on me?” I looked at him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll sign off. But the AFA needs your doctor’s signature too.”
“I know. Dr. Evans. I’ll get it by today.” The old man would want a few signed autographs for the family and maybe a few tickets to the game. But he would sign. My hand was practically back to a hundred percent. There was no reason to keep me out of the game.
