The Right Player: A Sports Romance, page 10
“Right! And, it’ll be like a joining of homes — your old one, and your new one.” She nudged me, taking her phone back. “I’ll even let you put that stupid San Francisco football blanket in there to represent your in-between home, too.”
I smiled at the joke, but mostly just watched her in fascination. “You’re pretty rad, you know that?”
Belle laughed, the sweetest sound. “Rad, huh? I don’t think anyone has ever called me that.”
“Glad to be the first.”
We shared a smile just as the lights flickered, and then we settled in, both warmer now and with a glass of wine and chocolates.
Just as the show started, I reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it in mine.
And she squeezed it, smiling against a flush I knew she thought I couldn’t see.
The second half of the show was just as powerful as the first, and even more riveting, gripping me by the heart and holding me captive. And yet, as much as I watched the stage, I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting over to Belle.
I loved the way she watched so intently, the way her eyes watered when tragedy struck, the way her hand squeezed mine a little tighter when the drama surged. I’d never taken a woman to a show before — mostly because any woman I had asked had never been even remotely interested.
To see someone who loved it as much as I did, who felt it the way I did — deep down to the core — it was magical.
The end of the show brought us to our feet, along with the rest of the crowd, and we stood and applauded and cheered as the dancers, actors and actresses, and orchestra took their bows. We were both still bouncing and talking a hundred miles an hour as we spilled out into the streets of Chicago with the rest of the audience.
“And her voice,” Belle said, mouth wide open. “I mean, I couldn’t hold my shit together that second half. I was crying every other song.”
“Their chemistry was so believable.”
“And the dancers.”
“Incredible. The design, the colors, the songs. Although, as much as I loved the mashups with all the familiar songs, I think an original score could have really set this show on another level.”
“Yeah,” Belle agreed with a click of her tongue. “I agree. I think it was lacking a bit there. But, otherwise?” She did a chef’s kiss, smiling up at me. “Perfection.”
I smirked, taking in the sight of her, the pavement wet from the evening rainstorm, lights playing off of it and sparkling in her eyes, too. Her hair was still matted to her head, and the hoodie fell down past her knees, a hilarious contradiction to the bottom grandeur of her gown and high heels.
Belle followed my gaze, covering her face with the sleeves of the hoodie — her hands completely hidden inside now — and shaking her head. “Ugh. I look like such a mess right now.”
I shook my head, too, pulling her into me and tilting her chin up so I could see her eyes. “You look perfect.”
Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine, and when they fell to my lips, I knew what she wanted without her asking. And I was eager to answer.
I tilted her chin a bit more, pressing my forehead to hers before I bent to capture her lips. They were warm and tasted like wine, and I leaned into them, soaking up every last drop.
Belle’s hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and by the time we broke the kiss, we were both breathless, panting, tugging at each other’s hoodies like they were the only things tying us to the Earth.
“You know, that big, fancy California King bed you ordered for my bedroom got delivered yesterday.”
Belle snaked her tongue out over her bottom lip. “Did it now?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm. Sure did. Complete with that plush, memory foam mattress, and the buttery-smooth, one-thousand-thread-count sheets.”
She hummed. “That so?”
“Comforter, pillows, the whole shebang.”
“Well, I did put in a rush order on all that,” she confessed, pulling me closer, her lips dancing over mine. “Couldn’t have you sleeping on an air mattress any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“So thoughtful,” I mused, thumbing her bottom lip.
She bit it as soon as it was free from the touch, and I inhaled a breath that stabbed my chest like a thousand tiny needles.
“So…” I said, caressing her cheek with my knuckles. “Wanna come see all your hard work?”
A devilish smile spread on those perfect lips of hers, and then with a brief, hot kiss and a wave of her hand in the air, we were in a cab on our way across town.
Belle
We crashed through Makoa’s condo door like we were bursting into a burning building to save a dozen kittens.
My back hit the wall with a loud thud, stealing my breath just before Makoa’s lips were there taking whatever was left of it. He shut the door behind him with his foot, dropping his still-damp suit jacket on the floor, along with his top hat.
His hands were in my hair next, gripping and tilting, his mouth claiming me with every kiss.
I was perfectly warm, thanks to the massive Moulin Rouge! hoodie Makoa bought for me, but still, I trembled in his arms. Every new kiss elicited a new wave of chills, racing from every point of contact until they covered me head to toe. Makoa was a completely different man with his hands on me. It was like touching me brought out every carnal urge that lived inside him.
It’d only been a little over a week since I met this man, and somehow, it felt like I’d waited a lifetime for this moment.
As if he read my mind, Makoa’s hands snaked under my hoodie, and he groaned when his hands palmed my breasts. “God, do you know how badly I’ve wanted to touch you all night?” He nipped at my bottom lip, trailing a line of kisses down my jaw line, my neck, until his next words were whispers right in the shell of my ear. “These tits, those legs, your perfect fucking mouth — they’re all I’ve thought about for days.”
I moaned when he hiked one of my legs up over his hip, my dress coming with it, pressing his erection into the heat of me. I remembered all too well how firm and thick it felt in my hands, and all I wanted was to free it from the fabric that I’d damned for separating us.
Makoa kissed me again, hard, and I shoved my hands into his chest until he bounded backward. Then, I lifted my hands with a smile. “Take this off.”
Without hesitation, Makoa grabbed the hem of the hoodie and slipped it up over my head. He did the same with the one he wore, and I had about two seconds of appreciation for his Italian suit before I launched myself at him again.
We were a cluster of hands deftly making work of fabric, our lips fused together in a heated, almost hateful kiss. I unbuttoned his vest, he unzipped my dress. I tore open his dress shirt and he pulled every bobby pin from my hair, casting it down in a damp, curly, mess of waves over my shoulders.
“I can’t figure this thing out,” I cursed, yanking at his belt.
“That makes two of us,” he said, panting as he tried to figure out the straps covering the back of my gown.
We exchanged a look, and then for only as long as it took to finish getting undressed, we took our hands off each other.
He watched me with a grin as I pulled at the straps behind me, freeing one shoulder and then the next. My dress fell in a puddle at my feet just as Makoa kicked off his dress shoes and yanked his pants down to his ankles. He stood there in navy blue dress socks and boxer briefs that hugged his thick, tight ass, thighs, and erection in ways that would make a photographer drool and beg for an exclusive shoot.
I stepped out of my dress, but before I could move for my heels, Makoa had me backed into the wall again, my hands over my head, his lips claiming mine.
“Leave those on,” he husked.
His hands trailed down, working my strapless bra off with one easy snap. Makoa backed up then, his eyes drinking me in, and his fingertips cast more chills in their wake as they made their way to my breasts.
“Fuck me,” he said, shaking his head. He palmed them, massaging them as my head fell back against the wall and I leaned into the touch. When he pulled at the nipples, gentle yet firm enough to make them pucker, I let out a little yelp.
And that must have done it.
He lost all control then, something of a growl ripping from his throat before I was hoisted up and over his shoulder like a bag of fucking potatoes. I would have laughed, if it wasn’t so goddamn sexy. I felt like a prisoner, like he was a caveman about to have his way with me.
I expected him to carry me to the bedroom, but we only made it to the kitchen, and the granite was cool when he sat my thong-clad ass on top of it. As soon as I was stable, he bent, sweeping his tongue over my nipple before I had the chance to prepare for it.
A bolt of electricity shot through me, and I gasped, gripping what I could of his short hair in my hands. He moved to the other nipple, sucking it just as hard, and my pussy throbbed in anticipation of what his mouth would do to it next.
“It took every fucking bit of restraint I possessed not to take you right here,” he said, sucking my nipple again and releasing it with a pop. “Just like this.” He lifted one of my legs as I leaned back on my palms, and he placed my high heel on his shoulder, trailing his fingertips down my leg until they skated over the lace of my panties. “The very first fucking time you were here.”
“You should have,” I whispered, or maybe I panted it. I couldn’t be sure, and I couldn’t believe it was me making the desperate, mewling sounds of need as his fingers pushed my panties to the side.
“No,” he said, and his eyes connected with mine. “You were worth the wait.”
His middle finger slipped inside me, slicking through my wet folds and filling me as I trembled at the sensation. I let my head fall back, my eyes closed, embracing everything about the way it felt to have that massive, beastly finger inside me.
Makoa kissed all over my breasts, sucking and biting and licking as his finger curled inside me, and I swore to God I could come right there. I could detonate without him even putting that glorious cock inside me.
Makoa didn’t give me the chance, though. As if he knew I was close, he flipped me before I could make sense of it, and I was bent over the kitchen island, the granite biting into my hips as he pressed into me from behind.
His hands wrapped in my hair and tugged, until my back arched, my ass cheeks framing the length of him. He sucked the lobe of my ear between his teeth, making me shiver and shake, and then he peeled my panties down over my ass, my thighs, leaving them where they fell at my ankles.
“Bend over,” he whispered.
“I am.”
He pressed his hand onto my back, flattening me against the granite. “More.”
I wrapped my hands around the edges of the counter, bracing for impact with my heart racing out of my chest. I expected to feel his cock ram inside me, but instead, he dropped to his knees.
And then he gripped my hips, pulling them back, arching me as much as humanly possible before he dragged his tongue from my clit to my asshole in one, full sweep.
I shook so hard I nearly fell to the floor, the heels adding to how difficult it was to keep my fucking legs working. Makoa took the hint, took my weight in his hands, and then he dove in for more.
His tongue was a whip, lashing me, over and over. He’d run the hot, flatness of it over and in, sucking at my ass, flicking at my clit. Gone was the fumbling, nervous, mess of a man I’d encountered the past few dates. It seemed whenever the clothes came off, Makoa became something else entirely.
A warrior. A beast.
A pussy-worshiping, unrelenting punisher.
My moans turned into something that would put even the hottest porn star to shame as he ate me out, but again, just when I was close enough to come, he leapt to his feet, and I collapsed into his arms.
“Don’t give up on me yet,” he teased, kissing my neck before he put my hands on the countertop, instructing me to wait.
He was gone only a minute before he returned to the kitchen, ripping a gold packet open as he did. Then, he ripped his briefs down, stepping out of them like it was nothing. Like he didn’t just free the motherland of all cocks. Like his erection wasn’t the hardest, thickest, prettiest dick I’d ever seen in my life.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, panting, my hands pressing to his chest when he advanced on me.
Makoa frowned. “Are you okay?” Then, his eyes went wide. “Oh, God. Did I move too fast? Do you want to stop?”
I almost snorted. “No, stupid.” Then, I pressed gently until he was standing a few feet away from me. “I want to admire the savage brute you just released.”
Makoa’s brow arched, and then he followed my gaze down to his length, smirking as he shook his head. He went to move for me again, but I held up one finger.
“Ah, ah,” I said, waving the finger as I tilted my head to one side. I took in every blessed inch of that man’s body, from his ridiculously sculpted abdomen and thick, tattooed chest and arms, to his tree-trunk quads and deep-cut V that led to the promise land.
His cock hung between his legs, so heavy it couldn’t stand straight up even at full mast. It hung a little to the left, the tip mushroomed and thick, the base lined in veins.
It really was the most perfect cock I’d ever seen.
I almost wanted to cry.
“Are you done yet?” he asked with a smirk. “Because I’d really like to fuck you bent over this counter now.”
I licked my lips, turning to face the counter again and bracing my hands on the edges. I bent at the waist, flicking my hair over my back, and then I looked back at him through my lashes with a come and get me stare.
Makoa bit his lip, shaking his head as he tore open what was left of the condom wrapper and slipped the magnum over his length. I watched hungrily as he stroked himself, striding toward me like he was about to conquer a fucking kingdom.
One hand grabbed my waist, the other lined his cock up at my entrance. I knew before he even pressed forward an inch that this was going to fucking hurt, but there was no way I was backing out now.
I arched my back, pressing my ass up to meet him, and Makoa kissed my neck, once, twice, three times before he pressed the first inch of his head inside me.
I gasped at the sensation, a combination of pleasure and pain ripping through me.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” I think I answered, and I backed up, pressing him more inside me.
He hissed a breath, both of his hands finding my hips and helping. In and out, little by little, we worked together until I had that full behemoth inside me.
And when I did, it was pure ecstasy.
“Oh, goddamn, Belle,” he cursed, sliding all the way out before he filled me again. “You feel so fucking good.”
I moaned, a whispered yes on my lips as he picked up the pace, finding a rhythm between my legs. I was so full, so fucking worked up that I didn’t even need to touch my clit to feel my orgasm building. It was everything else making me come. It was the Chicago skyline through the windows, and the granite against my stomach, and his massive hands encasing my hips, and his breath mingling with mine in the sweetest, most seductive dance.
I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but Makoa was right.
It was definitely worth the wait.
“Fuck, baby, I’m going to come,” he breathed.
I ignored the fact that he’d just called me baby — a term far too intimate for my taste — and even more so the fact that I really, really liked it. Instead, I turned my focus to the more pressing fact that he’d just said he was about to come.
And I was not ready for that.
I pushed him backward, immediately pressing my lips to his and yanking him down to the floor. We crashed down in a tangle of limbs, and then he was on his back, and before he could even put two and two together to figure out how we got here, I climbed up to straddle him.
“Not yet, baby.”
Shit.
Did that word just come from my mouth?
Again, I chose ignorance, at least for the time being. Reaching down between us, I positioned him at my entrance again and balanced on my feet. Makoa took the cue, his massive hands holding the weight of my ass, and then I lowered down, inch by blissful inch.
And this time, I got to watch his face as he filled me.
“Don’t go until I do,” I warned, and then, I started moving.
I worked slow at first, lowering down completely until I felt his balls on my ass before I lifted and repeated the motion. His hands supported me the entire way, and when I picked up the speed, he took the weight of me, helping me bounce on that glorious cock of his.
“Jesus Christ.” His eyes rolled back, and I knew he was doing everything he could not to come.
I lowered down gently to my knees, still riding him, and moved his hands to grab my tits.
“That’s not helping,” he groaned, but his eyes shot open, watching in wonder as my tits bounced in his hands.
“Not yet,” I warned, and then I reached between my legs, my entire body trembling when my fingers brushed over my clit. I was so wet, so fucking close that just the first touch had the blood tingling in every vein.
I rubbed slow circles at first, gyrating my hips, feeling his hands as they rolled over my nipples. Then, I worked my clit harder, faster, leaning back to feel him as deep as I could.
And with another warning from Makoa that he was going to come, I let go.
Moans and cries of pleasure ripped from my throat as the blood coursed through me, hot and electric, numbness invading every centimeter of my being. It was animalistic, the way I rode him in those last moments, with me coming on his cock and him pulsing out his own release inside the condom. Those little pulses only fueled my orgasm to last even longer, and by the time we were both spent, I collapsed on top of him, our bodies slick where they met.
Fucking hell.
I just laid there, panting, eyes closed as Makoa ran his fingers through my hair. He was still inside me, slowly growing soft, and with what felt like every ounce of effort I had left, I lifted my head to look at him.
