Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

While she did as he asked, flattening her palms on the locker in front of her, Wells unfastened his belt and lowered his zipper, hissing out a breath while traveling over the aching inches of his erection. Shoving his pants and briefs down to his knees, he trapped Josephine’s hips with his left forearm, drawing her up to the very tips of her toes, all while panting, panting, in anticipation of feeling this woman from the inside. He rubbed his cock against her slippery entrance, groaning hoarsely into the nape of her neck.

“Josephine . . .” He was almost afraid of the words that wanted to leave his mouth, but he closed his eyes and let them tumble out, anyway, because it was her. “This . . . you and me. We’re about more than golf. Or some incentive to win. We’re more than that. But tell me I earned you, anyway.” He pressed the head of his dick inside her, groaning through a gentle thrust and knew, instantly, that he’d never want to fuck another woman as long as he lived.

Call it intuition. Call it whatever you like, but the way Josephine held her breath and looked back at him over her shoulder, like she sensed some kind of radical shift in the atmosphere, was nothing short of life changing. She looked him right in the eye and whimpered as he pushed in every inch, deeper, deeper, until she was closed-mouth screaming.

An image of her walking down the aisle short-circuited his brain.

Made his pulse zigzag through his veins.

What the hell?

“Tell me,” Wells demanded raggedly.

“You earned me,” she murmured, squeezing him. “Have me however you want me.”

Wells didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He bent her over and banged her motherfucking brains out. What else was he supposed to do when her pussy felt like tight silk and she’d given him permission to come inside her? When she was using her leverage from the lockers to push back and meet his pumps, letting out horny little sobs of his name, her fingers busy playing with her clit? He couldn’t have gone slow to save the world.

Have me however you want me.

“I want you everywhere. All the time,” he rasped, breathing shallow, his hips slapping up against her incredible ass, watching it shake with a raw possessiveness that shocked him as much as it felt completely normal when it came to her. Only her. “Over and over and fucking over again, Josephine. I’ll earn this hot pussy every single time, if I have to.”

“You don’t,” she whispered.

And he wanted to hear her say that, watch her mouth form the words, so he wrapped her hair in a fist, drew her upright, and flattened the front of her body against the lockers. “Josephine?”

She turned her head, their mouths coming together like magnets. “Like you said, we’re more than a sport. Some incentive.” Heavy-lidded eyes searched his face. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he exhaled, winded. From exertion. What was happening to him?

His emotions were cymbals crashing in his head and rib cage. He couldn’t make sense of them now. Just knew this woman was his only method of breathing. He needed air. And he could get the most oxygen from her pleasure, so he knocked her fingers out of the way and stroked her clit with his own fingers. Middle and ring. Circling and playing in the wetness of her cunt, the place where they joined, that button that made her thighs dance anxiously.

“There it is, baby, let it happen. Right there on my cock this time.”

“Oh my God, please God.”

“Yes? I’m listening.”

“Wells.”

He drove upward, bringing her tiptoes off the ground, his fingers strumming her clit in a blur. “God? Wells? Somebody is giving it to you good, Josephine, because you’re wet as fuck.”

She slapped the locker with both hands, struggling to get her feet on the ground for leverage, but he wouldn’t let her, instinct telling him she’d come harder if she didn’t have that piece of control, and he was right. Her muscles locked up, fingers curling into fists, and she convulsed around him so tightly, he had to bite her shoulder to keep from shouting the ceiling down.

Mother Mary.

It cost him an ocean’s worth of self-control to thrust deep and hold, letting her grind on his dick and draw out the pleasure, before he started pumping again.

“The things I’ll do to keep you coming back,” he growled into her neck. “Anything. God help me, I’ll do anything for more of this.”

She turned her mouth to meet his in a breathless kiss, her right hand leaving the locker, fingers spearing into the hair at the back of his scalp. Holding firmly while they devoured each other’s mouths. “Let me see you,” she whispered. “When you finish.”

He didn’t even know which part of his body was storing his heart right now. His stomach or his mouth. “That’s going to make you want more?”

“I . . . think . . . m-maybe feeling close to you would—”

Quickly, in the name of self-preservation, Wells cut Josephine off with his mouth, because if she kept talking like that, he was going to start making a lot of premature vows. I’ll never kiss anyone else. I’ll never touch anyone else. Or asking her to come to Miami tomorrow morning, instead of going home during the break between tournaments. So he could see what she looked like in his bathtub and take her for long walks on the beach during sunset.

Am I romantic now?

When did that happen?

Wells didn’t have a single clue. But if she wanted to look at him while he busted, it was the very least he could do.

Or so he thought. It was a lot more difficult than he imagined, in the sense that he could barely breathe in the face of so much intimacy.

She touched the tips of their tongues together and flexed her cunt—and he started naming saints. He wasn’t even Catholic. Didn’t realize he knew any of the saints, either. But he was obviously having some kind of religious experience, because the more she worked those muscles around his shaft, the more brilliant light flared at the edges of his vision, his body surging forward of its own volition, crushing her against the lockers. Hard. Thrusting. Thrusting.

“Oh Jesus. Sorry, baby. Sorry,” he ground out, the slap of flesh, her halting breaths, the firmness of her ass against his stomach, it all blew him into oblivion, but her turning to lock their gazes together while it happened was like having his soul ripped clean out. Everything was green, like her eyes.

His entire universe.

His entire existence came down to her. Little gold flecks and the scent of flowers and her unruly auburn hair.

The dramatic release of tension happened in his lower body, but higher, too. In his chest. He was releasing himself to her. Just handing everything inside him over, and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stem the desperation to bond with Josephine permanently, and that need took the form of rutting her up against the locker, her knees crashing into the metal, his own fist pounding it out of pure savage ownership.

Not only that, he was being owned.

Such a simple request. To look at her when he came.

But it was easily the most intimate leap he’d ever taken in his life.

Then she smiled at him toward the end and everything just kind of exploded into place.

The final scrape of sexual frustration left him, for now, exiting on a tide of raw, unparalleled relief, filling her body, her body that received him so perfectly, stroking him with fine muscles and sleek flesh, squeezing to a tempo only they could hear. His spend slowly dripped back out, coating their joined flesh while he groaned, working into her even as his erection subsided, because he simply couldn’t stop, couldn’t quit trying to get as close as possible.

Nothing had ever felt better than this woman. Ever.

“What are you doing between now and the next tournament?” he asked into her neck, voice uneven. “Come to Miami. I have a bathtub.”

Color deepened on her cheeks. Wells just stared at the increase of pink in a total stupor. Like, how had he been living his life without realizing an angel was existing right under his nose?