“Trey,” she whispers, her head falling back. “Fuck, Trey.”
I pull the shirt down until we’re skin to skin. Until my tongue can circle her, suckle her, and she rides my leg more aggressively. I want those shorts off. I want her naked on my leg so I can feel her getting wet and hot and wanton. I don’t have a condom but there are so many things I want to do to this woman that don’t involve my dick. They’re all about her and the way she moans, the way she gasps and grips me like a vise as her body lights up under my hands. I won’t sleep until I’ve worn her out. Until she’s lying in my arms with swollen lips and hooded eyes, her body exhausted from tremor after tremor tearing through her.
I’ll give her all of it. All of me, everything I have. Every kiss she’ll take, every touch she’ll allow. I’ll go where she lets me, where she leads me, and I won’t miss the control. I’ll let her have the lead because I trust her to get me where I need to be. To who I need to be, and by the end of the night I know I’ll sleep like a baby because she got me there.
But until then, I’ll love her like a devil.
***
In the morning I wake up alone. I don’t know when she left, but she leaves me with something to remember her by; the tank top with my name on it. It’s draped across the pillow she slept on and when I bring it to my nose I catch her scent on it. That rich, almost masculine smell that can’t be a perfume. Maybe it’s her soap? I have no idea, but it’s addicting.
I take one last sniff of it before laying it out on the bed again. My morning wood is painful after a night of making her moan, never letting her touch me. I made it all about her, but this morning is gonna have to be about me or I’ll lose my fucking mind on the field. I shuffle my blue balls into a hot shower where I beat off to the memory of her gasps and cries. Of her sweat on her skin, salty on my lips when I kissed her. Of her heat in my hands. On my fingers, thick like cream. I grunt her name as I finish, my sight going dark on the edges.
She’s there, in the dark. Her blond hair luminescent like an angel, her smile curved like a devil.
A night with her did the trick, though. Better than any of the times with Tish or the other girls ever could. Sloane isn’t a quick fix. She’s no street drug that you find in a bind. She’s some medical grade shit that stays in my system for days like a sedative straight to my vein. I slept like the dead last night with her wrapped in my arms, and now that I’ve gotten myself sorted out, I’m stone cold centered. I’m ready to play all day with a clear head and sharpened eyes.
I make it down to the dining area minutes before the start of the team breakfast. The smell of fried pork in three different varieties is heavy in the air, along with bread and eggs. It’s important for us to get the right amount of fuel in our system at these meals because it’s the last solid food we’ll see before the game. You have to be careful. You don’t want to overload or make yourself sick but you don’t want to go into a game hungry either.
I pile my plate high with eggs and sausage, one whole wheat waffle, an apple, and a banana. I’ll probably snag another banana on the way out the door, but for now I park my ass in a chair at a table surrounded by my O-line. Fiso, Avery, Anthony, Hibbert, Lowry, Lefao, Olynyk, even Matthews, that anti-social son of a bitch. They all greet me with full mouths and dripping forks as I sit.
“You ready, rook?” Avery asks me, his signature smile on his face.
“It’s just another game, right?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders. “Same as any other.”
“Yeah, except it’s your first,” Anthony points out.
“First one that matters,” Lowry agrees around a mouthful of pancake.
Avery laughs at them, tossing a handful of cereal their way. “Leave him alone. He’s the last person we want to have jitters.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s made of ice, man,” Anthony argues. “It’s what he’s famous for.”
“Yeah, well it’s hard to be chill when everyone is blowing hot air up your ass, so back off him.”
“I’m good,” I promise Colt. “Don’t sweat it. Nothing anyone can say to rattle me today.”
Anthony leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Be real. You on something?”
“Like what?”
“Downers. Zoloft. Something.”
“Nothing,” I promise him, shaking my head. “I don’t take anything. That shit will slow your reflexes.”
“You’re just that tight, huh?”
“I must be.”