Page 101 of Filthy Player
“I know, which is why I only got sacked once tonight instead of the six times I should have been. You’re strong, you’ll heal, and we’ll move on, but someone important in my life was hurt and because of that, my mind was on you and that not only made me play like shit, the other players not only felt it, but they were worried too. It was just a crap day, one I want to forget.”
I brushed her hair off her shoulder, fanned it out on the bed and came closer, pressing my lips to her jaw, her throat, her collarbone.
She shivered beneath me, dug her fingers into my shoulders.
“You need to get out of your suit then.”
I laughed against her skin and then thought of how she’d flinched downstairs. “Are you too hurt? We can wait.”
“I don’t want to.” Her hands were on my shoulders, pushing under my suit coat and shoving it off. I leaned off her, straddling her waist, and shucked off my suit and then unbuttoned my shirt enough so I could pull that off, too.
“I want you,” Paige said, her gaze roaming my bare chest.
She looked at me like I was her hero. I still felt like shit. Jaxon did too. It’d take awhile to wash that away. Which was the main reason why I played like such shit. To my coaches’ and team’s credit, as pissed off as they were, and as frustrated as they’d been with me, they also understood. We’d come back. Seattle was a damn good team, anyway, and on the best days, it would have been a hard fought battle.
Sitting in this bed, now belonging to both Paige and I, and watching as she wiggled out of her T-shirt beneath me, none of it mattered.
She wasn’t holding our faults and failures against us.
She was now living with me.
Soon, when the time was right, I’d get a ring on her finger and plant a baby in her and then we’d have everything we ever wanted.
I couldn’t tie her like I wanted, like she enjoyed, and I couldn’t hold her hands like I fucking loved doing while I was inside of her, but I could still make this night exceptional.
I stood from the bed and kicked off my pants and boxers, ripped off my dress socks, and moved to the end of the bed. Leaning over her, I kissed her ankle, up to the back of her knee, grinning as she spread her legs.
“Beaux.”
Her voice was already breathy and needy little gasps fell from her lips as I teased her knee, her inner thighs with my lips and my tongue. My touch was gentle, reverent.
I wanted to pour everything I felt for this crazy, strong woman, into this night, into this moment, so she would know down to the marrow of her bones how much she meant to me.
Tugging down her shorts and underwear, I pressed kisses just above her center, adding teasing flicks of my tongue to her already swollen clit.
God, she was gorgeous. Everywhere.
She arched into me and I pressed a hand to her hipbone, holding her still.
“What do you want, honey?”
“You,” she gasped as I slid a finger inside her and twisted. “You. Only you.”
I love you didn’t even the same impact as those words did. She meant all of them, but that admission struck me hard and fast in the chest. She was being truthful. I could have been a mechanic, a bartender. I could have sold cars or taught school, or been the world’s richest tech giant. She didn’t care about money or fame or expensive shit, if anything, I’d learned me having it made it harder to get through to her.
But I’d busted down those walls weeks ago, and now, there was just us.
Her. Me. Only us and who we were at our cores.
“Fuck, I love you,” I whispered.
“Please, Beaux,” she gasped.
I quit teasing. I bent down, slid my tongue through her folds and then I ate her.
She writhed as soon as I groaned against her hot and slickened flesh, and with my finger inside her, I added a second, stretching and twisting until I reached the rigid flesh inside. I rubbed against her, continued sliding my tongue over her clit until she bucked wildly.
She came, screaming my name, pulling on my hair, grabbing for me like she always did when I made her come.
