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“That it is.” But I don’t know if I stand by that the way I used to or even vocalized. He never calls them tits in a crude way, but almost reverential. And what he’s doing now feels so good that I consider leaving the jersey off a little longer just to let him continue.
But I’m too excited over this gift, and the fabric comes down. I run into the bathroom to take a look. From the bedroom, he asks, “How do you like it?”
“It fits perfectly.” A little baggy so I can wear a shirt underneath when it gets cold, but it has a nice cut to follow the lines of my waist. I look at myself from every angle, smiling so much my cheeks start hurting. “How do I like it?” Admiring it a little longer in the mirror, I then turn to run into the bedroom and tackle him on the bed. Straddling him with my legs, I run my fingertips over the detailing of the team’s name, the blue embroidered edges even nicer than I remember. “It’s the best present I’ve ever got.”
“Really?” There’s a hint of surprise in the response.
I nod eagerly. “Really. Thank you. I absolutely love it.” Anchoring my hands on either side of his head, I lower myself to kiss him. “What made you buy this for me?”
“You said you’d always wanted a Yankees jersey. No real fan can be without.”
I won’t disagree, but I also know this is officially the most expensive item of clothing I own. By the way his hands roam my body, I can tell I have him right where I want him. Squeezing my thighs with him between them is such sweet torture as I feel him growing harder by the second. “I should have warned you, babe.”
“Warned me about what?”
“You’re never getting this jersey off me again.”
He balks in laughter. “Wanna bet?”
“What’s the wager?”
Gripping my hips, he encourages me to rock on top of him. “If I get this shirt off you, you consider my earlier offer? Seriously consider it.”
I already have, but I don’t say anything because getting his hopes up and then saying no could put our relationship in jeopardy. “Okay. I’ll agree to that, but what happens if I win? What’s my prize?”
I run my tongue over my bottom lip, letting it linger in the corner for a few seconds simply because I know it drives him wild. He’s mesmerized. I love that I’ve learned so much about him and what turns him on.
“I’ll let you take my car on a joyride. Anywhere you want to go.”
I loved driving his car the one time I did. The purr of the engine alone had me feeling powerful. I wouldn’t mind it. “Hmm. I didn’t expect the offer to be so tempting.”
“Joyriding in my car is tempting, but living with me isn’t? If I were a lesser man, I’d take offense.”
“But you’re not.” I wiggle on top of his manhood just to prove a point. Holding out my hand, I say, “You got yourself a deal, Westcott.”
We shake hands on it. It’s an easy bet to accept with no real commitments attached. I was already considering the offer, so I’m halfway there. I’ll still play along, though, to keep the fun going.
When I kiss him again, we roll over with our legs tangled together and arms wrapped around each other. With Harbor on top, the kiss deepens. He can look at me, and my body reacts, but when he moves against me, our bodies are already making love despite the clothes that cover us.
His hands slide under the jersey, finding my breasts again and squeezing to start but then teasing my nipples with his fingertips. The thin material of my yoga pants allows me to feel every inch of hardness underneath the denim. I take a deep breath, but the sensations are too intense, and I moan, not holding back.
Here, in his apartment, we get to be us. Loud, quiet, moaning, or talking until three o’clock in the morning. No one is around to tell us we’re bothering them or keeping them up. It’s us, doing what feels good.
Pushing up, Harbor hovers over me. As I search his eyes, his hands roam free over my body. He slows, then asks, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m ready to feel you inside me again.”
“I can make that happen.” We start to kiss, but he’s quick to stop. “I’ve been thinking about what you said in the bath. Are you still open to it?”
I tick through the many things said, but only one stands out to me. “I’m on the pill—”
“How do you feel about not using a condom?”
“I just had sex for the first time. You felt amazing to me. I imagine the connection could be even better, so I’m open to it if you are.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Our lips press together again, but then I stop him this time. “Babe?”
