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I sink my fingertips into his back, breathing hard. His eyes are locked onto mine as I say, “I’m close.”
“Come hard, little dove,” he says as he fucks me harder.
His words send me into a spiral of sensation. I cry out, wave after wave of pleasure washing over my body.
“Fuck,” he says, his expression strained. “Oh fuck…Mila.”
He tenses and I can feel him coming. I wrap myself around him, not ready to let go.
Laughing lightly, he kisses my lips, cheeks, and forehead. “I’ll crush you if I relax.”
“I can’t think of a better way to go.”
Reluctantly, I release him and he rolls off of me, laying on his side next to me. We just look at each other for a minute as he runs his fingertips over my stomach.
“Thank you for trusting me,” I say, breaking the silence.
“Thanks for being my soft place to land.”
He kisses me and I’m so filled with happiness that I have to be glowing bright enough to light up a room.
“Will you come back to my bedroom?” he asks.
I pretend to think about it. “I don’t know. This bed is pretty comfortable.”
He grins. “Oh yeah? I think I can keep you plenty comfortable in my bed.”
“You do have a knack for it.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Of course, it’s a yes.”
“Let’s go.”
He kisses me and gets out of bed, gathering his clothes from the floor. I slip my T-shirt—which is actually his—back on and get clean undies out of a drawer, stepping into them.
“Great game tonight,” I say.
“Thanks.” He smirks. “You know, as team-owner-slash-my-wife, you could start giving me blow jobs in exchange for goals.”
I laugh lightly. “A score for a score?”
“Exactly.”
I put my hand on his cheek and kiss him. “I’ll suck you off anytime you want. Goal or no goal.”
His eyes darken. “That’s what I like to hear.”
When we get to his bed, it’s not a blow job he wants, but more sex. And I’m more than okay with it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Colby
“That’s not a word.” Mila furrows her brow as she reads the letters I just played in our Scrabble game. “English isn’t even my first language and I know that’s not a word.”
“Tokenize. To make into a token.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not a thing, and it’s not a word.”
“The fuck it’s not.”
She picks up her phone.
“No phones,” I remind her. “That’s seventy-nine points for me and it’s your turn.”
She grabs an olive from the plates of food on the coffee table next to the game board, followed by a piece of cheese.
“You make a mean charcuterie board, Harrison, but it doesn’t mean I’ll let you cheat your way into a win.”
I groan, picking up her wine glass and taking it into the kitchen to refill it.
“A man who refills your wine doesn’t sound like a cheater to me,” I call out to her.
It’s been almost a week since our talk, and things have turned around between us. I just got home from a road trip this morning, and all I wanted to do was spend the evening at home with Mila.
“We can easily figure out if it’s a word by looking it up!” she says.
It’s probably not a word. I was hoping to get away with it because I can get so many points for it. I can’t admit that to her, though.
When I hand her glass back, she takes a sip and sets the glass on the table, standing up to stretch. I get a glance at her midriff when her shirt rides up, and I can’t help pulling her into my arms.
She smiles up at me, her eyes bright with happiness. “Don’t try to charm me into letting you cheat.”
“It’s not cheating; it’s you respecting my judgment,” I say, grinning.
“Oh, is that it?”
I kiss her, sliding my hands down to cup her ass. “You don’t want me to feel tokenized, do you?”
She laughs and wraps her arms around my neck. “I think with that face of yours, people buy into your bullshit because you make it look and sound so good.”
“You know a thing or two about that yourself.”
Her chin drops. “Bullshitting? Are you calling me a bullshitter?”
“I meant about making things look and sound good. When we were FaceTiming yesterday while you made that smoothie, you were talking about the new arena but you looked so sexy that I was fantasizing about fucking you on the kitchen island.”
“Really?”
There’s a hopeful note in her voice. Since we talked, she’s been softer toward me, letting her guard down. Knowing only I get to see that side of her makes me want her that much more.
I kiss her longer this time, forgetting about the game as she slides her hands beneath the back of my T-shirt, her fingers grazing over my skin.
Pulling back, I look at her. She has the most beautiful eyes. They’re the shade of whiskey, framed by long black lashes. With high cheekbones and full pink lips, she could be a model if she wanted to. I never really saw her until we were married. She was just my off-limits team owner, and no one on our team would have dared to even look at her.
