He grins. “I agree.” He turns away and heads into the kitchen. “Want a drink?”
“Uh, sure.” I follow him into a room at the back of the house. Viking range, stainless steel refrigerator, marble countertops—it’s a kitchen to die for. But I’m pretty sure it’s never actually been used.
After offering me from a basic selection of drinks, he hands me a glass. We both take sips, feeling each other out. Finally, I break the ice.
“What do you do when you’re home? I’ve heard a lot of athletes play video games or work out for hours on end. What’s your jam?”
“I lift some. Run some. Play a little video games, but I’m pretty much over that. Some guys do it all the time though. I don’t know how they do.”
“I’ve never gotten into that whole thing,” I say. “I’ve heard yoga is really good for athletes. It stretches you all out in different ways.”
He makes a face. “I’ll be your yoga instructor. Stretch you out in all kinds of ways.”
I swipe at him playfully, making him laugh.
“No to yoga,” he says. “It’s a girlie thing. Unless you’re doing it and then I’ll stand right behind you.”
“Oh, that’s what I want you to see! My ass in downward facing dog.”
His eyes darken. “I’d love to see you from every angle.”
My mouth goes dry from his gaze. This is the moment I’ve waited on for days now, the situation I’ve fantasized about. With a slightly shaking hand, I reach for his belt and being undoing it.
His eyes hood, making me squirm. I yelp as his hands find my waist and I’m hoisted in a circle and sat on top of the cool marble. His hands are on either side of me, caging me in.
“What are you waiting on?” I pant, cupping his face in my hands. His cheeks are rough, the stubble biting into my skin. He watches me, his gaze penetrating mine.
“It’s different this time, don’t you think?”
“How?”
“I know what you’re going to feel like, what you sound like, what you taste like.”
“How do you know that?” I pant.
“You don’t think I tasted you off my fingers before?”
“Oh, God,” I moan.
“But tonight, I get to experience you. Feel you. Taste you first hand. Feel you squirt in my mouth—”
“Stop,” I say like I’ve run a mile.
“Spread your legs, beautiful.”
With no hesitation, I part my legs as his hands cup my ass and he slides me to the end of the marble. He wastes no time sliding his tongue into my mouth, caressing mine. I forget about my parted legs until his knuckles brush against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I shudder.
His left hand is on the back of my head, keeping my head from pulling away from him. I can barely compute anything; too many fireworks are exploding in too many regions.
My thumbs brush his cheeks before I find the silky strands of his hair. Lacing my fingers through them, I tug slightly. It elicits a moan from his throat and that does it for me. I’m so wet I can feel it coating my legs. He does too because his eyes flash open for one brief moment, a look of pure lust written all over them. And when he realizes I’m not wearing any panties, I feel him melt against me.
He slips one finger, quickly followed by a second, into me. I suck in a breath, only to have it stolen by Lincoln’s kisses. He works his fingers in and out as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
Just as he’s finding a steady pace, he stops. Before I can object, I’m lifted by the waist. My legs instinctively wrap around him, his hands beneath the globes of my ass. The skin almost stings as his fingers kiss into my flesh.
I have no idea where we’re going, and I can’t even see from the merciless assault of his lips. We bump into walls, into corners, as he makes our way down a dark hallway.
Turning one corner a little too sharply, a picture falls from the wall and crashes on the floor. Gasping for air, I’m laid on a king-sized bed with silky silver-grey sheets. Sitting up, I try to work my zipper down in the back in a rush when I hear his voice low and gravelly.
“Let me,” he says.
I still. He peers down at me, a small smile on his lips. One knee is on the mattress, then the other. He is behind me in a flash. With a gentle hand, he brushes my hair to one shoulder and tugs on the zipper at my neck.
I shiver, more from his touch than the air hitting my exposed skin. Looking straight ahead, I feel the zipper slowly roll towards the small of my back. It finally hits the end. His hands, so rough and hardened, push the fabric at the shoulders so it falls to my waist. I feel his lips press a kiss at the base of my neck.
Glancing at him over the corner of my shoulder, I watch him unbutton his shirt. As each inch of skin is displayed, I feel my heartbeat pick up until the shirt is tossed on the floor, and I’m on the brink of a heart attack.
He steps off the bed and removes his shoes and pants. I shimmy out of my dress and toss it to the floor, freezing when I catch him staring at me.
“What?” I ask, feeling, for the first time, self-conscious.
“Damn, baby.”
“What?” I ask again, feeling my nipples harden under his observation.
“You just make me want to stand here and stare at you, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”
“Stop, Landry,” I blush. “Not that I’m opposed to appreciating the view because your body is seriously . . . You’re incredible.”
“I know.”
I burst out laughing, crooking my finger. “But now’s not the time for that. I need fucked.”
Using those stellar baseball reflexes, I’m on my back and he’s hovering over me before I see it coming.
“It’s about time,” I say breathlessly, slipping my hand between us and grabbing his cock. “Just like I thought.”
“What’s that?”
“Size thirteen.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” I giggle. “I want to feel you inside me.”
“You,” he says, his mouth up against my ear, “are going to be the death of me.”
“Don’t die until after you fuck me, please.”
He takes a nibble at the shell of my ear, making me shriek and writhe beneath him. He uses my movement against me, or for me, depending, and I feel his girth at my opening.
I still and hold my breath. His arms, those sinewy, muscled arms, cage me in on either side of my head. A sinful smirk plays on his lips as he swirls his hips and drags his cock through my wetness. I move, attempting to get some friction against my needy clit. I dig my nails into his ass to convince him to go.
“Do I need to use a condom?” he asks.
“I’m clean and on the pill,” I say.
“I get checked every six months. I’m clean.”
“Then get on with it, Landry, I—” My sentence is halted by a yelp as he pushes into me with one long, hard, owning push. “Ah!” I squeal, panting.
“You like that?”
“God, yes,” I breathe, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. He’s watching me and I’d like to be able to hold my ground and gaze, but I can’t. It’s impossible. He knows this. He likes this, the cocky bastard.