Scoring Wilder

Show time.

I closed the oven and twisted around to spot him standing in the doorway. He’d showered after practice and was wearing worn jeans and a white t-shirt. I smiled down at my own wardrobe. I'd slipped on a pair of skinny jeans that I knew would drive him insane and a blue v-neck that was comfortable, but sexy.

His hair was still damp from the shower and he had one sexy brow arched at the sight before him.

"I'm preparing a feast," I announced with a flourish of my hand.

"I see that. It smells awesome," he complimented, dropping his workout bag and keys on the table and continuing toward me. "I like this sight as well."

"The mess?" I asked, gazing down at the cheese, pasta wrappers, and the cutting board with chopped up tomatoes and onions. There was tomato sauce spilled on the counter as well. Had I managed to put anything actually in the damn lasagna?

He stepped closer still, coming to stand right behind me so he could wrap his arms around my waist.

"No. You in my house when I get home from practice," he answered, eliciting a wave of goose bumps.

"It was fun, like I was playing house in someone else's kitchen,” I shrugged. “I swear I'll clean all of this up."

He chuckled and spun me around so that my back was to the counter. "We'll clean it up. What's in the oven?"

"A lasagna," I answered, feeling his lips briefly make contact with my neck. It was enough to elicit a soft moan.

"How long do we have until it’s done?"

I cocked a brow as his hand drifted beneath my shirt. "About an hour. I just put it in."

A seductive smile spread across his lips and I suddenly knew I was in trouble.

"Well, I've had almost a full week without getting to touch you and I'd like to make up for that," he said, lifting my shirt and skimming his hands upward, over my ribcage and breasts.

I lifted my arms up over my head and cast him a devious smile as he pulled off my shirt and tossed it onto the kitchen table. His gaze drifted down to the swell of my breasts peeking out of my black bra and his eyes narrowed slightly at the sight before him. High five, Mrs. Victoria Secret.

I dropped my hands to undo his jeans and then I pushed them down his long toned legs. Everything about him was worthy of worship, but those soccer legs made my sexual prowess shine. I let my hands drift over his thighs and back up, watching as he hardened beneath his black boxer briefs.

He was every ounce of man, and as I scored over his body, I realized that I wanted to be completely taken by him. He tugged his shirt over his head and then reached down to wrap his hands around my biceps, pulling me to my feet. I didn't have time to catch my footing before his hand was dipping down the front of my jeans. He unbuckled them and the zipper gave way as his finger sank into me. My mouth fell open, but no sounds escaped. He slowly withdrew his finger before sinking into me again.

"This is what I've been dreaming about all week," he murmured, dipping forward to steal a kiss. His lips were hungry and demanding; he possessed my mouth and I tried to keep up, but he overwhelmed my senses. He kept sliding in and out of me, slowly at first but then picking up the pace. I felt myself crawling toward an orgasm just as his thumb started spinning soft circles. He had masterful hands and the pad of his thumb might have been my favorite part of his entire body.

He withdrew his mouth from mine just as his fingers sped up their pace. He leaned back and watched my reactions to what he was doing like he was a voyeur. It felt sinfully sexy to have him watch me come. I licked my lips, trying to dampen the dry flesh, just as a shudder ran through me.

"Come for me, baby. Let me watch you."

My blue eyes met his grey stare and a spark caught fire inside of me. I came around his fingers, leaning back against the counter and moaning his name over and over again.

There was no time to recover. I was still feeling the echoes of the orgasm as he stripped off my jeans and panties and spun me around so that my hip bones met the counter. He flicked off my bra and shoved everything on the counter aside so there was room for me.

"Holy," I whispered as I felt him push himself against my exposed flesh. I'd never had a man take me the way he did. He didn't ask for permission. When we were making love, exploring each other, my body belonged to him like he had the sole rights to it.

"Bend forward, baby.”

R.S. Grey's books