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I immediately placed my face between her legs, needing to taste her.
“Oh, God.”
I sucked.
Licked.
Devoured her until she was writhing and begging me to make love to her.
My mind raced as I kissed my way back up to her face. Grabbing her leg next, I angled it upward, bending her knee so that her foot rested on my ass.
In one thrust, I was deep inside of her.
“Oh God,” she breathed out. Keeping her eyes open even though they wanted to close.
She grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me with so much power and passion, I returned it tenfold.
The feel of her.
Taste of her.
Sophie.
Baby Soph.
Mine.
For some reason, my mind went back to another place and time. The night we made…
Our son.
Chapter Twenty-Six
—Jax—
Then
“How does it feel to be known as the greatest of all time?”
I smiled at the reporter’s question. “It feels great.”
I'd spent the last hour at this damn press junket, and all I kept thinking about was getting the hell out of here. I needed to unwind and have a fucking drink.
For the next twenty minutes, question after question was thrown in my face. The more personal it was, the better the ratings were. I knew how this game was played, having a love/hate relationship with the press since I’d begun playing for Miami five years ago.
“Jax,” the same reporter called out. “Do you think you’re ever going to settle down?”
I grinned. “Not anytime soon.”
The same journalist added, “Do you see yourself getting married maybe? Starting a family? A son who could possibly carry on your legacy?”
I resisted the urge to tell him to go fuck himself.
“Have any of the models you’ve been seen with this past month finally caught your attention enough to possibly become a girlfriend?” another reporter asked, bringing my attention over to her.
“I don’t have time for any distractions that include anything more than no strings attached.”
My answer seemed to appease them. They didn’t ask about my personal life for the rest of the interview. Instead, we spoke stats which was always my favorite.
