desperately for him to move.
“Ah,
hell, don’t do that.”
I
smile and do it again.
“Megan,
this won’t last long if you keep…” Before he can finish the sentence I rotate
my hips again and squeeze my intimate muscles and he starts to really move,
gliding out to the tip, and then back in to the hilt.
“Oh,
yes.”
“Is
this what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Tell
me, babe.” His voice is raw and sweat is beading on his forehead and I’m
stunned at how much he wants me.
“I
want you. Just you.”
“Damn
right, just me.” And with that he picks up the pace, rocking in and out of me,
thrusting harder and harder, so when he’s pushed as far as he can go, it almost
hurts. He’s so big, there’s no avoiding it.
“Goddamn
it,” his teeth are clenched. He grabs my hands, laces our fingers, and pulls
them above my head, restraining me. “You’re so fucking sweet.”
Every
touch of his pubis against my clit is setting me on fire, until finally I can’t
stand it anymore. I feel the orgasm building, my legs clench, I grip his hands
harder.
“Come,”
he whispers in my ear and bites my neck, sending me over the edge, pulsing and
bucking beneath him in the best damn orgasm of my life.
“Ah,
hell,” he shouts and follows me with his own release. He buries his face in my
neck and unlocks our fingers. I wrap my arms around him and cradle him to me,
still inside me, and know that I’m totally and completely lost to this
beautiful man.
He
rolls to the side and takes me with him, reversing our positions. He manages to
stay inside me, and I’m in no hurry to kick him out.
“Well,
I guess it’s safe to say we’re compatible in bed,” I murmur against his chest.
He laughs and kisses my head.
“True,
but you might kill me.”
“How
so?”
“Now
that I’ve had you, I won’t be able to get enough of you. I think I’m addicted
to how you feel, how you sound, and being buried deep inside you.”
I
don’t really mind the sound of that at all.
And
besides, it’s totally mutual.
I
sigh and rest my arm across his chest. Will traces the music inked on my arm
with his finger.
“What
song is it?” he asks softly.
“ I
Dare You To Move by Switchfoot.”
“What
part of the song is this?”
Startled,
I gaze up at him. “You do know me pretty well already, don’t you?”
“You
wouldn’t permanently put anything on your body unless it meant something. What
lyrics go with this music?” He smiles down at me and kisses my forehead.
I’ve
never shared this with anyone.
“ I
dare you to lift yourself up off the floor.” I whisper and feel Will sigh.
“It’s
beautiful,” he murmurs and drops the subject.
“I
like yours too.” I grin up at him and then pinch him.
“Hey!
What was that for?”
“You
never told me you have a tattoo.”
“You
never asked.” He hugs me tighter and sweeps his hand down my back to my ass and
back up again.
I
want to purr like a kitten.
“I
get the number eight is your jersey number, but what does the rest mean?” I ask
him and trace the number eight on his side. His tattoo is over his ribcage on
his right side. It’s the number eight surrounded by lots of little lines and
squiggles that don’t seem to make any sense.
“Look
closely,” he mutters and raises his arm so I can get a better look.
Holy
shit.
“It’s
all the players’ signatures?” I ask.
“Yep.
It represents my team. I may be the center of it, but I’m surrounded by a whole
team of great men and really good players. So I had a board made with the number
in the middle and asked all the guys to sign around it, and there it is.”
“Do
you add names as teammates come and go?” I ask.
“Yeah.
It started with college, and I’ve added the names as the years go by.”
“What
if your number changes?” I ask.
“It’s
not going to. They retired my number at UW and Seattle will probably do the
same when I retire.”
“Big
shot football star,” I murmur, earning a light slap
“Ah,
hell, don’t do that.”
I
smile and do it again.
“Megan,
this won’t last long if you keep…” Before he can finish the sentence I rotate
my hips again and squeeze my intimate muscles and he starts to really move,
gliding out to the tip, and then back in to the hilt.
“Oh,
yes.”
“Is
this what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Tell
me, babe.” His voice is raw and sweat is beading on his forehead and I’m
stunned at how much he wants me.
“I
want you. Just you.”
“Damn
right, just me.” And with that he picks up the pace, rocking in and out of me,
thrusting harder and harder, so when he’s pushed as far as he can go, it almost
hurts. He’s so big, there’s no avoiding it.
“Goddamn
it,” his teeth are clenched. He grabs my hands, laces our fingers, and pulls
them above my head, restraining me. “You’re so fucking sweet.”
Every
touch of his pubis against my clit is setting me on fire, until finally I can’t
stand it anymore. I feel the orgasm building, my legs clench, I grip his hands
harder.
“Come,”
he whispers in my ear and bites my neck, sending me over the edge, pulsing and
bucking beneath him in the best damn orgasm of my life.
“Ah,
hell,” he shouts and follows me with his own release. He buries his face in my
neck and unlocks our fingers. I wrap my arms around him and cradle him to me,
still inside me, and know that I’m totally and completely lost to this
beautiful man.
He
rolls to the side and takes me with him, reversing our positions. He manages to
stay inside me, and I’m in no hurry to kick him out.
“Well,
I guess it’s safe to say we’re compatible in bed,” I murmur against his chest.
He laughs and kisses my head.
“True,
but you might kill me.”
“How
so?”
“Now
that I’ve had you, I won’t be able to get enough of you. I think I’m addicted
to how you feel, how you sound, and being buried deep inside you.”
I
don’t really mind the sound of that at all.
And
besides, it’s totally mutual.
I
sigh and rest my arm across his chest. Will traces the music inked on my arm
with his finger.
“What
song is it?” he asks softly.
“ I
Dare You To Move by Switchfoot.”
“What
part of the song is this?”
Startled,
I gaze up at him. “You do know me pretty well already, don’t you?”
“You
wouldn’t permanently put anything on your body unless it meant something. What
lyrics go with this music?” He smiles down at me and kisses my forehead.
I’ve
never shared this with anyone.
“ I
dare you to lift yourself up off the floor.” I whisper and feel Will sigh.
“It’s
beautiful,” he murmurs and drops the subject.
“I
like yours too.” I grin up at him and then pinch him.
“Hey!
What was that for?”
“You
never told me you have a tattoo.”
“You
never asked.” He hugs me tighter and sweeps his hand down my back to my ass and
back up again.
I
want to purr like a kitten.
“I
get the number eight is your jersey number, but what does the rest mean?” I ask
him and trace the number eight on his side. His tattoo is over his ribcage on
his right side. It’s the number eight surrounded by lots of little lines and
squiggles that don’t seem to make any sense.
“Look
closely,” he mutters and raises his arm so I can get a better look.
Holy
shit.
“It’s
all the players’ signatures?” I ask.
“Yep.
It represents my team. I may be the center of it, but I’m surrounded by a whole
team of great men and really good players. So I had a board made with the number
in the middle and asked all the guys to sign around it, and there it is.”
“Do
you add names as teammates come and go?” I ask.
“Yeah.
It started with college, and I’ve added the names as the years go by.”
“What
if your number changes?” I ask.
“It’s
not going to. They retired my number at UW and Seattle will probably do the
same when I retire.”
“Big
shot football star,” I murmur, earning a light slap
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