Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I ease down, his strong hands digging into my hips as he guides me. I lean in closer, my breasts brushing his chest.
“Just you and me now,” he murmurs. “Use my dick to get off, honey.”
I shudder from the pleasure rushing through me already. “I love riding your cock.”
His eyes darken. His growl deepens. “That’s right. Use my dick to get off, and use this beautiful mouth too,” he says, running a finger along my bottom lip. “Love it when you say filthy things.”
“Love it when you fuck me hard,” I counter as he thrusts, stroking up.
His big hands run along my waist until he covers my belly with one palm. There’s something deliciously possessive in the gesture.
“You look so fucking beautiful riding my cock, Brooke.” His voice is a filthy whisper, but tender somehow too.
I moan, letting my head fall back as I find my perfect pace, rocking up and down on him.
“Love the way your sweet pussy grips me,” he rasps out, and I gasp at the lovely smut.
We become a hot, wild thing, a smashing of sweaty, greedy bodies. I’m nothing but desire and the wish to come. As my muscles tense, pleasure erupts everywhere inside me.
Seconds later, he follows me, pounding me hard, rough, like the lashing of rain against a window as he joins me.
Soon, we collapse in a sweaty heap on my couch, and he smothers my neck in kisses, then my cheek, then my ear. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, you.”
“I’m falling for you,” he says.
I smile. “I’m falling so hard for you.”
22
A CLEAN SHAVE
Drew
Best week ever.
I’ve spent every evening at Brooke’s home except last night, when she slept here with me at my condo. After a fantastic round of morning sex, I walk her to the door on Saturday and give her a long, lingering kiss goodbye. “See you on Monday,” I say.
“See you then,” she says, then breezes out.
The team flies to San Francisco tomorrow morning for a Sunday night game against Carter’s local rivals—the San Francisco Hawks. I hurry to get ready to head to the stadium for a review of the playbook before tomorrow’s kickoff.
But when I open the door to leave, I stop short.
Patrick stands outside, his fist poised to knock.
“Hey man, what’s up?” I ask, my brow furrowed. “I need to head to the stadium.”
“Just this little thing known as a meeting.” He taps his watch. “I was at the coffee shop down the block with Tavarez, waiting for you. To talk about the donations you’re making, the role he wants you to play. Pretty sure he wants you on the board. But you didn’t show. What’s up?”
Oh, shit.
I’m a dick.
“I’m sorry.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I totally forgot.”
He gives me a quizzical look. “That’s not like you. But that’s why I texted to see what was up. I called too. You didn’t get either?”
“Um,” I say, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck. Truth was, I was busy with Brooke all morning. My face between her thighs and all. Didn’t check my phone. Didn’t even turn it on. “Must have missed it. I’m sorry. I feel like a jerk.”
Patrick’s a chill dude, and rarely gets ruffled. But he’s clearly concerned. “You getting enough sleep?” His protective side is out in full force. “You’ve always needed a solid eight hours.”
I do the math. I’ve been nowhere close to that. More like six, maybe seven. But the sex and the conversations with Brooke are so worth it. “I’m close to that.”
“Good. I’m guessing you missed my message this morning because you were busy with your woman?”
It doesn’t sound like a reprimand. More like a hey, I’m looking out for you. I feel like a jackass, though.
“Is he still there? I can meet with him now.”
“He had to take off. Something with his kid. But we’ll reschedule. It happens,” Patrick says.
But it doesn’t happen to me. I don’t miss meetings. I don’t forget obligations. My mom taught me to show up, and I motherfucking do.
Maybe I have sex brain.
“I’ll do better next week. I promise,” I say.
Patrick claps me on the shoulder. “No worries. Glad you’re into her, man. Just keep your focus.”
He leaves, and before I take off for work, I send Paul a message apologizing for my no-show and telling him I can’t wait to talk to him about Young Athletes.
At the stadium, we review the game plan, and I put both the missed meeting and the woman out of my mind. I have tunnel vision the rest of the day and into Sunday morning as we board the plane for the hour-long flight. By the time we hit the Hawks field for kickoff, I’m in the zone.
We score first. But the Hawks are tough as nails. Their quarterback is fearless in the pocket and lasers in on his receivers on every damn throw.