Page 99 of Dirty Player
“I love you,” I said without hesitancy.
His eyes seared into me as he gritted his teeth together.
“Please.” I pressed one of my hands to his cheek. “I’m so close.”
He grunted as he thrust into me hard. “Like this?” In. Out. Harder. Not faster.
God.He was killing me.
My hips arched up and into him, trying to get the friction I needed that he was keeping from me.
“I need you.”
“You have me,” he responded, so forcefully that I knew he was losing control.
He pulled back, and I took the small break in our skin pressing against skin to slide my hand between us.
“Fuck, yes. Do it. Get yourself off.”
It didn’t take long. His long, hard dick inside me, moving slow, grinding against me when he was fully inside, my fingers helped take me over the edge and I tightened around him, my heels digging into his lower back as I came.
“So damn beautiful when you come,” he growled and dropped his forehead to mine. “Hold on to me tight.”
I did what he asked, wrapping my limbs around him while he pounded into me, his speed finally increasing like I’d asked for, drawing out my orgasm.
“Oliver.”
“Fuck, Shannon.” He seated himself to the root and came on a growl, my name reverberating through the walls of the bedroom in his hotel room.
We’d stayed there the night before when he’d dragged me out of Stamped, my fingers cramping from working so hard.
Melissa had been with me even though she was staying at Beaux’s since I had yet to buy any guest room furniture. When Oliver had shown up, his interest and desire clear in his eyes, she’d practically shoved me out the door, promising she’d find something to do to keep her busy for the night before I picked her up for the game. His parents were in town, staying at his house for the weekend, and he said he wanted the night alone with me. I’d meet them for breakfast before a driver took them to the game early, but I was still trying not to think about that part yet.
It had taken only a few hours before photos of us at Stamped on Thursday had surfaced on local gossip sites. Then they’d gone viral on social media platforms. My notifications had been dinging through the roof so much that I’d finally shut down my phone earlier in the day.
I was terrified as to what Oliver’s parents would think about me. When I had met Patrick’s parents, they’d made it clear they didn’t think someone from a run-down home with a single mom was anyone close to being good enough for their son.
Based on the things the media had been saying about me when they saw Oliver’s arms wrapped around me, or the kiss we’d shared when he’d first shown up, it was also clear that half of America thought the same thing about Oliver and me.
I’d tried not to let it bother me. I knew the truth. In some crazy way, Oliver and I fit.
But his parents might not think so, and I was terrified to spend three hours that afternoon watching a game with people who might hate me.
I blew out a breath at the thought as Oliver slid off me, draping a sheet over my hips as he moved. “Stay here. I have something for you.”
“Another present?” I asked, my face paling.
He laughed and sauntered to the bathroom to clean up. “You’ll like this one, I promise.”
I’d liked the last one, eventually. I’d liked it so much I’d wanted him to take my ass over and over again—and while there’d been play in the last couple of weeks, it hadn’t happened.
I thought about asking him for it then, but remembered his game later.
When he came out of the bathroom, still naked and completely confident in his body he walked directly to the closet and came out holding a white box—the kind of box dress shirts came in.
“What’s this?” I sat up and brought the sheet with me to cover my breasts.
Oliver sat down next to me, his hips to the side of mine on the bed. He reached out and tugged the sheet until it fell down. Before I could reach for it, he leaned closer and pressed his lips right between my breasts, softly and slowly, making my nipples harden at the sensation.
