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“I'm only a dick because you drive me mad,” I explain, my voice shaky as she strokes me. “I want you and you couldn’t care less, remember? That infuriates me.”
“So you act like a child because you can't have what you want?”
“Yeah,” I moan like a weak bitch when she cups my balls in her palm, rolling her fingers along them. “I-I'm a fucking child.”
I can't focus on what I'm saying. I'm just going to agree with whatever she says while she's stroking me over my pants like this. It feels phenomenal.
“That's right,” she confirms. “You are.”
I can't hold back my grin as I figure out this little tease of hers.
Goddamnit, this girl.
“Say you're sorry,” she demands, her tongue tracing her lips as she continues to stroke my cock through the sweats. “For how you treated me today.”
I shake my head. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
I fall back onto her, my lips pressing softly against hers again.
I quickly roll over onto my back, carrying her with me until she's straddling me. It's easier on my knee, but honestly, I just want to see her from this point of view. My eager hands find her thighs, tracing up her soft flesh until they come to rest at her waist. She sits up on me, breathless.
“I don't really think you are,” she says. “I think you're saying whatever you can to keep this going.”
“Yes and no,” I reply, trailing my hands down her thighs and then back up to her waist again, obsessed with her curves. “I really am sorry for being a dick to you. It's honestly out of character for me. But I also want this to keep going, so I will literally do anything.”
With her hands now planted on my chest to hold her up, her lips curl into a grin. She fights it, though, so I need to explain myself.
“I…” I stall, trying to find the words. “I get possessive, I guess?”
She cocks her brow, rolling her hips on me, and I almost buckle.
“How can you be possessive of something that isn't yours?”
Because you will be mine. You just don't know it yet.
If she honestly thinks I'd be cool with her seeing any of the other guys, or even attempting to go on dates with Beckham for that matter, she's crazier than I thought. I won't allow it. Not now. Not ever.
“I'm not yours,” she answers, as if reading my mind.
My brows raise. “I know.”
“And you're not mine,” she declares softly, rolling her hips forward again.
I'm trying my best to remain focused, but I can't tell if that makes her sad or if she's just letting me down gently. I can't get a read on her at all. She’s the murkiest of all waters and I’m clear as, well, a Lake.
She's so unlike the women I usually surround myself with. She's incredibly guarded. To be honest, I get it. There's a lot at stake here, especially for her. She could lose her job, and I, the football star, would get a pat on the back.
“So, what do we do?” I ask, curious.
Her hands slide up my pecs and over my shoulders until they plant on the spaces beside my neck. She leans over me and I can imagine her riding me in this position, her full breasts hanging before me, her hair cascading around her. Fucking beautiful.
I can't hold serious conversations like this.
“We use each other,” she whispers down over me. “For one night. We use each other and just get it out of our systems.”
She grinds her hips into me again, gliding along the length of my cock, and my eyes roll back into my head.
“Then we go back to business. Never mention it again.”
