I didn’t let her finish the sentence. I sealed my lips over hers. Her mouth was hot against mine, and a stroke of my tongue over hers reminded us both of our goal. “Please get in the car,” I mumbled between kisses, “before I stop caring who might be around to watch the show.”
Our kiss ended as she turned and stared at the open back seat. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. This was a big step for her, and I didn’t want to push. I wanted her to feel safe. “Or we can stay here. I can be a gentleman.”
“Maybe I don’t want that.” Her voice was unsteady.
I let out a tight breath as she stepped away from me and crawled over the leather bench in the back. The interior of my car wasn’t spacious. I’d never made out in my back seat. I was twenty-two years old—if I was going to fool around, I found a couch or a bed like an actual adult. But I could tell Kayla would shoot me down if I invited her back to my apartment. Even if she was up for it, she’d freak when she saw all my stuff. Could I convince her to see past the Michigan branding that blanketed everything?
The moment I closed the door behind me, the air grew thick and heavy. We’d gotten in here with a purpose, and I was eager to get to it. She sat in her seat, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth as she stared at me. It was quiet, other than her uneven breathing.
I smiled softly. “Come here.”
I pulled her onto my lap so her knees were on either side of my hips, and my hands tangled in her hair at the same moment our lips collided. The girl outside had been holding back on me. In the heat of my cramped back seat, she exploded. The curtain of her hair fell into my eyes and I pushed it back, holding it out of our way. I leaned back into the leather, my head thudding onto the top of the seat, and let her go to town kissing me. It was fucking amazing.
My hands drifted down to her shoulder blades, and beneath my fingertips, I felt the outline of the band of her bra. I followed the ridges, slowly working my way toward the front, sliding my hands over the silky fabric of her shirt. I’d spent a lot of time over the past two days wondering how far we would have gone if we hadn’t been interrupted at the wedding.
Had I ever wanted a girl this badly?
She arched into my touch, and her tongue plunged deep, filling my mouth. I couldn’t tell if she was shifting on me to make herself more comfortable or me more uncomfortable. The seam of her shorts rubbed against my throbbing dick, and I strangled back a groan of agonized pleasure.
Her breasts were a perfect handful. I teased her nipples with my thumbs, and she turned her head to the side as if she couldn’t breathe easily and needed air. That exposed her neck to me, so I gently bit the skin there. I licked and sucked until she was trembling.
The car was stifling, but I was too busy to deal with turning on the AC. Another shift of Kayla’s hips brought on a fresh wave of lust.
As a receiver, there was that sweet moment when you’d broken away and you were twenty yards down field. The ball was coming at you, and no one would be able to stop you from making a big play. Your whole body was hyperaware. So conditioned with what to do, it came as easily as breathing. The ball dropped into your hands, you secured it in the hold, and you’d burn straight to the end zone as all hell broke loose in the crowd. It was a fucking rush like nothing else.
Nothing . . . except kissing this girl.
I slid one had up her neck and gripped her hair, while I fumbled from one of her breasts to the other, my fingertips slipping inside her open neckline. Her skin was warm, soft and smooth. Her panted breath was a wordless command to keep touching her.
“You didn’t give me a warning this time,” she said. “You just kissed me.”
The heat of the car made me honest. “I was afraid you were going to stop me.”
“I should have. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
I hesitated. “You . . . want to stop?”
Her eyes were level with mine, and she blinked her baby blues. “No,” she said.
-11-
KAYLA
Jay’s palm pressed to my chest, and the heat of his hand warmed me from the inside out, which I didn’t need help with. It was sweltering in his car, sitting in his lap.
Something was definitely wrong with me because, no, I didn’t want to stop. I needed him to keep kissing me. If our brief make-out session at Marcy’s wedding had been the first half, he’d come out of the locker room after halftime as a whole new player. More aggressive and confident.
It was totally working for him. My fingers shook as I undid another button on my shirt. I wasn’t shaking with fear, I was trembling with anticipation. I needed to send him a clear signal since I couldn’t rely on my words. My body wanted his touch, so I put it in charge.
The parking lot wasn’t lit, and the sun had set as we’d come back from the diner, so it was dark inside the car. The moon was bright, though, and he looked so handsome in its light, it stole my breath. His eyes widened a degree when he realized I’d granted him better entry into my shirt, and the desire that flooded his face made me ache.
His hand slipped inside, and fingers dipped beneath the cup of my bra. I’d been wrong. Now it was sweltering in the car. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine, moving at the same painstakingly slow pace he was.
He didn’t try to undo my shirt. Maybe he knew I wanted to stay decent while still allowing his fingertips to glide over my sensitive skin. My moan was so deep, it started in my belly.
The car wasn’t in motion, but everything felt like it was moving. The world spun too fast, and abruptly jerked to a stop as he cupped my breast and tugged my nipple between two fingers. The sensation was a jolt of white hot pleasure, zipping down between my legs.
I was melting. Every inch of me turned into liquid as he massaged and teased the aching points of my breasts. Even when he focused on one, the sensation of my lacy bra brushing against my oversensitive skin on the other was pleasurable.
Since my body was in control, I rocked in his lap, and the sexiest noise came from him. A grunt, filled with longing. I wanted to touch him as he was touching me, so I burrowed my hands under his t-shirt.
“Oh my God,” I said.
“What?” His voice was low and unfocused. Too distracted with what his wandering hands were doing.
My palm chattered over the ridges of his stomach and chest. “You’re, uh, athletic.”
He laughed. “Student athletes usually are.”
I made a face, not wanting the reminder, or the distraction from the magnificent work of art his body was. His skin was feverish under my hands, and his eyes drifted closed for a moment, as if he were enjoying my touch.
I was suddenly grateful we were in a car. If we’d been alone with a bed nearby, I’d probably toss my inhibitions away faster than I could get his shirt off. Which was strange. I wasn’t the type to give it up quickly.
It was cruel for the universe to show me this beautiful man, and then make him play for Michigan.