“Hot.”
I close my eyes against the memories, but it’s useless. They’re so fresh, only minutes old, and they’re too vivid to ignore. I can see it all, feel it all, in perfect clarity. Trey’s hands on my thighs, his long fingers finding the edge of my skirt, lifting it higher and higher. Pulling my underwear lower and lower. Then they were gone along with everything else I was wearing. Blouse, bra, sense of shame. We tossed it all aside until our bodies collided. Until his tongue was in my mouth, his hands in my hair. On my breasts. Between my legs. He sent my breath scattered through the room, lost to me as he spun me around. As he bent me over the arm of the couch. As he slid inside me in one rough thrust that would have made me scream if I had air left in my lungs. His touch was coarse, every inch of his body hard and demanding as he commanded me, moved me through position after position, never letting me have what I was dying for, never giving either of us the release we chased until I was lost, whimpering and pleading for him.
For every. Last. Inch.
I lick my lips, opening my eyes reluctantly. “It was pretty hot.”
“It was smoking hot.”
“Habanero hot.”
“Magma hot.”
“Fell off the back of a truck hot.”
He turns his head to look at me, a smile on his lips. “Sloane Ashford hot.”
“Trey Domata hot.”
“That’s pretty damn hot.”
I laugh, but the sound is lost in his mouth when he kisses me. Then I’m lost in his hands as they weave into my hair to the back of my head, pulling me to him. My hand lands on his chest. It’s peppered with stiff, dark hair over the curved steel of his muscles. Every piece of him is toned and hard, calloused and coarse, but his mouth is incredibly soft. His tongue asks permission gently, an unbelievable contrast to the way he kissed me only minutes before, but I open myself to him readily, letting him take control the way he likes. The way that feels so deliciously free.
He places one last chaste kiss on my lips before releasing me. His face is serious and familiar as he lays his head back down. This is the man on the field. The self-assured QB with all the right moves. All the answers.
“Don’t overthink this, Sloane,” he tells me gently, smoothing my hair back from my face. “It’s not the end of everything.”
I shake my head ardently. “We can’t work together and do this. Brad would make me stop working with you. Everyone would assume I sleep with all my clients. I’m already seen as nothing but a pair of tits from most of the men I meet. The last thing I need is for them to start thinking about my vagina and how much dick it catches.”
“Slow down.”
“How are you so calm all of the sudden? I honestly thought you were having a panic attack earlier and now you’re… you’re different.”
Trey sits up suddenly. He pulls his shirt down from where I tangled it up around his neck and searches for his underwear. His pants. His socks. His shoes. I’ve cast his belongings to the winds and I worry that somehow something made it out into the hall. Maybe out the window. We were that kind of careless when the moment was on us, but now that it’s fading away I’m worried about what’s on the other side of it. I’m worried about the dramatic shift in his attitude.
“Trey, have you ever talked to a doctor about your attacks?” I ask gently.
“I don’t have attacks.”
His tone is even. Dead and uninterested.
“You have something going on. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you panic before, but it was definitely the worst. I think you need to talk to someone.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“Not really, no. You’re not.”
He hands me my bra, going to the other side of my desk to look for his left shoe. “What’d you mean when you said you had to convince your dad to sign me? What’d you have to convince him of?”
“Guess we’re done talking about it,” I mutter, yanking my black camisole down over my stomach.
“Why didn’t he want to sign me?” Trey presses.
“Because he didn’t think you were NFL material. He thought you were too calm. Not explosive enough. He says you’re too soft to be big in the NFL. I told him he was wrong. I never let up on him, even after you hurt your hand. I refused to give up because I knew going into this job that you were going to be big one day, and I wanted to be the one to help make that happen for you.”
“For both of us.”
“Yeah. I wanted it for me too. I wanted my moment, the one that would make everyone take notice and realize I could do this job without my dad, because you were my pick. I saw you coming. I knew you were going to be great.”