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Mallory was lying on fresh sheets, one leg propped up and the other extended, her hair billowing out over the pillows and a come-hither smile on her face.
She was completely naked.
There was part of me that wanted the excitement of undressing her again, but I knew I had a couple more days in New York. There would be other chances.
“We won today,” I said, unbuttoning my shirt and maintaining eye contact.
“I know,” she said. “I watched the end of the game on my break. I figured that a two-game winning streak deserved a little celebration.”
“This is my celebration?” I asked, pulling the shirt off and tossing it away. My belt was next. Her eyes traveled down to it as I yanked it open.
She nodded, her smile wide and sultry.
I climbed onto the bed, and she pushed my shoulders until I was lying on my back. Her fingers reached for my zipper and undid it slowly, then pulled my cock out with a groan of appreciation. When she mounted me, I pulled her in for a kiss and tasted her once more. I could never get enough of that. Not ever.
She lowered herself onto me, and I slid inside and into ecstasy.
15
MALLORY
It had been three days, and the stand in New York was coming to a close. Four straight days of Montreal playing in New York meant four straight days of seeing Graham. We hadn’t left the hotel room. We were ravenous for each other. The second he got back to the hotel from the games, what little clothing I was wearing would be torn off, and we would find ourselves wet with sweat and exhausted from intense sex that brought me to the brink of complete physical and mental meltdown and then kicked me hard over the edge.
Something had awoken inside of me, a desire and a hunger that I had never really known. I had dated, but never before had I experienced anything even remotely like the intensity of our attraction. It was like his body and mine were molded specifically for each other, designed to give nothing but pleasure. Every second without him inside me, I simply craved the moment when he would be again. It was a drug, and I was addicted.
But it was more than sex. It was an intensity of chemistry.
It was better than magic. It was real. And I worried it was finite.
We hadn’t talked about what came next. I knew he had to leave, to go on the road again to a different hotel in a different city. While he would be in New York again, it wouldn’t be soon. This was the last trip for some time, and when they returned, it would be in the heat of the pennant race. The likelihood he would have even a moment to spare was low. Not with how well they were doing.
He was going to be busy, extraordinarily so as the season progressed. So was I. The fall and winter were busy seasons for the theater, and between working two regular jobs to pay the bills and trying to make it as an actress and auditions and workshops, I was going to be swamped too.
It was time to say goodbye. Neither of us knew how to do it or what to say exactly. I knew I didn’t, and he seemed just as uncomfortable as I was. We would have to deal with seeing each other when we could, if we could.
It was the ‘if’ that worried me.
It was almost noon, and we had ordered brunch from the kitchen and brought it up. When they knocked on the door, Graham reluctantly put on pants and shut the bedroom door so they could come in. I knew that was the last I would see of his naked body for now, and as upset as it made me, I decided to try and deal. By the time the door to the bedroom opened again, I had also gotten on clothes, much to his disappointment.
“I was hoping you would eat breakfast naked,” he said.
“Not this time,” I said. “Mostly because we don’t have time to shower after you lick maple syrup off me again.”
He grinned. “We could make it a quick shower,” he said.
I shook my head.
“Well, I got the whole assortment this time,” he said. “Pretty much a little bit of everything they offer.”
He wasn’t kidding. There were eggs and toast and bacon and pancakes from the breakfast side and sandwiches, fresh vegetables, and two bottles of wine for the lunch side. I picked up one of the wine bottles to examine it and looked up at him. He shook his head.
“No?” I asked.
“I can’t,” he said. “No alcohol before a game. Coach is adamant about no alcohol until after the post-game rituals.”
“Wow,” I said. “Not even a beer with lunch before a night game?”
“Nope,” he said. “Not with our coach. Not my thing either. I prefer staying one hundred percent alert. I take a lot of notes when I’m not pitching. Feel free to take the wine home with you, though. I can’t bring it with me, and I’m not a wine guy anyway.”
