My breath comes in shallow pants as he places his hands on my shoulders and strokes them down my arms then back up. His fingers drift to the curve of my waist and back up to cup my face. He’s so gentle, and the emotion in his eyes—I gasp at what I see. Is it love burning in his gaze, or is it just passion? I don’t know, but right now I’ll take whatever he gives.
He kisses me, devouring my mouth with his, nipping at my lips and sighing. One of my hands curls around his neck to pull him closer while the other one plants itself on the hard bulge in his pants. My mouth doesn’t want to let him go, and it feels like it’s the same for him.
He traces his tongue down my neck to my collarbone, slips his hand under my sweater, and massages my breasts, his fingers tweaking the lace of my demi-bra. I toss my head back and hiss at the pleasure that zips up my spine. He maneuvers my arms out of my sweater and pushes it up around my neck without taking it off. I’m hot with it like that, but I don’t care. All I want is him…this. My nipples strain toward him and I bite my lip when he finally frees them with a snap of the back clasp. He groans as he cups my bare breasts, his expression raw with passion, visceral and primitive. His mouth sucks at a nipple, making me gasp.
“You’re too beautiful for me,” he says.
With need and lust rippling through my veins, I try to be careful as I help him take off his t-shirt and sling it over the top of the stall door. Though faint, there are still bruises on his body, and I lean down to kiss each one. A hiss escapes his lips as I trace my fingers over his pink nipples, playing with his skin. My mouth finds them, exploring, tasting him.
I work my way lower to unbutton his pants and shove them down around his hips. I push at his tight athletic briefs, my fingers stroking over the head of his cock. My mouth follows, tasting him the way I’ve been thinking about all week, and he groans my name.
While my mouth works him, he reaches his fingers underneath my skirt. He finds me wet and grunts as his finger slides back and forth against my core, teasing me and making me squirm with need. I’m panting around him, feeling like I’m going to come any moment.
“Do you have protection?” I gasp out. Hurry, hurry is all I can think because it seems like a million years ago that we were together in my bed.
He gives me a quick nod and tugs a package out of the back pocket of his jeans.
I watch him slide it over the bulbous head and onto his hard shaft, the veins there long and thick. His eyes look up at me.
He tugs my neck forward and kisses me, his chest against my breasts. In between kisses he whispers, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
In a rush, he has me picked up as if I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around him, my center resting on his abs. I’m soaked and I don’t care that I’m out of control for him.
His length nudges at my entrance, easing inside until finally he grunts and sheaths himself fully. Neither of us move a muscle for ten seconds, our faces next to each other, my hands hanging on to his shoulders.
“Fuck.” He closes his eyes and groans as I begin to move on him, grinding my hips and swiveling.
He turns so I’m pressed against the wall then withdraws and slides back in, the fullness intense, a sensation I quickly adjust to as he begins again. Hard and fast is the pace, and I can’t get enough. Each time he strokes inside me, it’s like it’s happening all over again for the first time.
“Mav,” I say as he watches me, detailing every nuance of my reaction. I’ll never have enough of this, of him. He’s ruining me.
I turn my face to him, gasping for air. His lips kiss my shoulder, sucking hard as my body clenches his cock.
Sensation gathers, growing warm and then hot at the base of my spine. Arching my back, I take all of him as his hands hold my hips, pushing me harder and harder until I break, shattering into a million pieces.
I breathe out his name and hang on as his cock swells inside me. He crests over the edge and calls my name.
His mouth finds mine and kisses me, his hands still holding me up as he pushes into me and shudders.
I feel supple and loose, like a cat that’s just been fed a big bowl of cream and now only wants to bask in the sun.
Then I’m reminded of where I am: in the restroom of the local Buffalo Bills.
He slowly lowers me. “I can’t believe we just did that,” I say as I disentangle myself, my feet finding solid ground.
I’m wobbly as I straighten my clothes, watching out of the corner of my eye as he disposes of the condom then zips his pants up. I hand him his shirt and he finishes getting dressed, watching me with a considering look on his face.
“What?” I say, turning to him. I know I must look crazy with my hair everywhere.
“Nothing, just…happy.”
Emotion clogs my throat. We’re moving so fast, but I can’t stop it. I can’t. I want him. Maybe I love him. My hands shake as I ease past him to open the stall and step out into the sink area where I turn on the faucet and run cold water over my wrists. I don’t know why I do it, just that my Nana used to do it when she got flustered. It seems fitting.
He grabs my hands and laces our fingers together. “So are we going back to your place or mine?”
“I thought you said you had to go work out?”
“I do, but I want to hold you tonight. I want to wake up and you be there.”
I smile. “Mine.”
Delaney
Mav-Man: Did you get the gift I left on your porch?
Me: You mean the stuffed animal wearing a Jedi outfit? Didn’t know it was from you.
Mav-Man: Minx. Who else buys you stuffed cats? I’ll make you pay for that remark later.
Me: Can’t wait. XOXO
I sip from a glass of red wine as I sit across from Maverick inside Giardina’s Italian Grill, an eatery a few blocks from campus. With dark lighting, a ceiling strung with ivy, and a collection of art depicting scenes from Venice on the amber-colored walls, it’s quaint and a popular date night place—which is what we’re doing tonight. Saturdays are busy, and I’m glad Maverick called ahead to reserve a table for four. I cross my legs under the table and uncross them, nervous to be meeting his dad and seeing Raven again.
He taps his fingers on the table, on edge, perhaps because his dad and sister are officially ten minutes late. He keeps staring at his phone, checking the time and seeing if she’s texted him.
I study him, taking in the chiseled jawline, the straight angles of his nose and forehead. It’s late March and his hair has grown out; he wears it swept back off his face, the ends curling around his ears. A pale blue button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up is paired with a pair of jeans that sculpt the taut muscles of his thighs. He smells intoxicating, all earthy and spicy from his shower at my place. Even though he looks great semi-dressed up, my favorite look on him is gym shorts, a tank, and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
“You look gorgeous,” he tells me, taking in my demure Peter Pan-collared black dress. The lapels are a stark white with tiny seed pearls I sewed on myself. His hand reaches out and strokes a long finger down my neck, ending at my collar where he tugs me toward him and kisses me lightly on the lips. “I’m with Skye—you should look into fashion when you graduate.”
I grin. I love how beautiful and talented he thinks I am. “Maybe. I’m not sure what I’ll do after this, maybe grad school.”
“Where at?” There’s a worry line on his forehead, and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want me to go to far from wherever he ends up in the NFL.