He gives me a serious look. “You’re coming to the game, right? I’ve got your tickets at the gate. Lots of wives will be there. Even my dad is coming.”
We’ve spent time with Vale. On the Fourth of July, Graham rented a boat and invited my family and his, except for Holden and Divina. We sailed around the East River as Macy’s did their fireworks show. Four barges stationed between Twenty-Third and Forty-Second Street set off over twenty thousand aerial effects. Londyn gasped in amazement at the vibrant colors in the night sky. Graham and I cuddled in a big chair on the deck, my hand over his heart as he held me. I’ll never forget it.
“That bad feeling could be you. What if—”
“I’ll be fine, Emmy,” he says tightly. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Just telling me not to worry doesn’t work,” I insist, placing my tea down. “Life doesn’t work that way. You’re going to walk out onto that field, and anything could happen to you. A few days ago you came home with an ankle sprain from a tackle. What about all those studies Dr. Moreau sent you? Don’t you think about them? Aren’t you afraid?”
“No,” he says curtly. “Bumps and bruises are normal. I don’t want to be coddled like a child.”
“If you’d just listen—”
“Nope. I came out here to bring you tea, not discuss my career. You don’t know anything about football or how I feel. I’m going to eat breakfast.” He turns and stalks away from me, his shoulders tense as a coiled spring.
I exhale. He’s defensive because football is everything to him. It’s true I don’t know much about football, but he’s the one who keeps avoiding any discussion of the risks he’s taking.
A few minutes later, I step into the large tiled shower off Graham’s bedroom, feeling the rush of warm water against my skin. I close my eyes and let the heat seep into my tense muscles. I’m shampooing my hair when the shower door opens, and Graham steps in with me.
My mouth dries. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to how gorgeous he is, those hard muscles toned to perfection. His thick cock bounces against his pelvis.
I arch a brow, and he shrugs and grins mischievously. “What? It’s always like this with you around. Let me wash your hair for you.”
“I can’t say no to that,” I murmur as he eases me so that my back is to his chest.
I shove my premonition and my worries away, burying them far away from this moment.
Without a word, he pulls me close, our bodies wet and slick against each other’s. I lean against him, feeling safe from the world, as he pours my vanilla shampoo into the palm of his hand, then runs it through my hair. His fingers massage my scalp deeply, hypnotically. The steam of the water rises around us, cascading over our skin as he tips my head back to rinse me. He puts my hair over my shoulder, and his lips brush my neck as he kisses me. I melt against him, his cock hard against my ass.
His hands cup my shoulders. “I’m sorry I was short with you. Forgive me.”
My heart swells with emotion as I turn and wrap my arms around his neck and stare up at him. I wonder if he senses the way I feel, if it radiates from me.
For a moment, emotion makes tears prick my eyes. He’s that little piece of magic, that irresistible feeling I never imagined I’d feel for someone. I’ve fought it, but I can’t stop. That’s how love is, impossible to pack away and forget.
He smiles at me, his dimples popping as his eyes crinkle, and suddenly I feel lit up inside. I understand it now, why people do crazy things for love; the emotion of it is like a drug, intoxicating and addictive. And when he traces his finger over my lips as if memorizing the shape of them, I’m floating, safe and secure in his arms, with my protector.
“That’s a very intense look you’re giving me, darling,” he murmurs.
“I want you to kiss me,” I say as I push the hair from his face.
“You never have to ask.” He bends his head and kisses me fervently, earnestly, as if conveying all his feelings and emotions in that one embrace. He captures my lower lip in his mouth and sucks on it as I tighten my arms around him. I savor his kiss, his touch. I revel in him, never wanting this, us, to end. I cling to him as he kisses down my neck, his teeth nipping and pulling at my skin.
Butterflies dance as he grazes his fingers over my piercing, tugging gently on my nipple and making me groan. My core heats, a need for him flaring like a lit match.
“Graham,” I whisper as his hands caress my breasts, kneading them in his strong hands. My head falls back as he drops more kisses on me, his tongue sucking a pebbled nipple in his mouth.
“Am I making you forget about your bad feeling?” he rumbles against my skin, and I nod an affirmative, not able to speak as his fingers lightly play with my clit. He taps me gently, then draws intoxicating circles until I can’t breathe.
“That’s it,” he growls when I straddle his thigh and rub against his leg for friction. “You need more, baby?”
A finger dips inside me, teasingly, softly.
“More,” I whisper, and he chuckles as he picks me up as if I weigh nothing, and my legs wrap around his waist. We’ve had sex a hundred different ways since I moved in, and this is my favorite way, him displaying his strength while I get to look into his face and hold his eyes.
He pushes my back against the wall and stares down at me with yearning in his gaze. Firm hands hold my ass as his cock head slides into me, then out, just his tip, again and again until I’m writhing in his embrace.
Finally, he goes deeper, his shoulders shuddering as sensations whip over him.
“Darling,” he growls and sinks deeper, his cock like steel.
My fingers grab his hair; then I clench my muscles around him, making him gasp. His body then owns mine with devilish intent, his hips thrusting into me as he presses me against the tile. He feels so good, and each time he exits, I beg for more, to feel every delicious inch of him, every vein and ridge, and he delivers, his dick pumping into my pussy over and over.
Groaning in satisfaction, he rocks into me, and I whimper with need, rubbing my breasts against his chest seductively, inviting him to go harder, to fuck me like he can’t live without it.
I get lost in the sounds we make, the moans and groans and sighs of pleasure, the wet sound of our bodies in the water. He takes me with unflinching remorse, his eyes blown and dilated as he looks down at me.
He slows, his rhythm easing into long, languorous strokes as he draws out the intensity and my begging for release. He snatches my mouth with a deep kiss as his fingers circle my clit with each thrust.