Page 19 of Falling for the Quarterback

I pause to pick up my panties from the floor, then realize my foolishness.

This is my room--in my house--dammit! I can’t do the walk of shame from my own home.

I drop the panties and cover my face with my hands, disgusted with myself for my lack of self-control.

It wasn’t alcohol intoxication that had me making this stupid decision. I wasn’t pissed enough from the beer I consumed to lose my faculties to consent to sleep with Joel.

Oh no. I slept with Joel because I wanted to. Plain and simple. My body took over the minute he gave me that cocky-assured smile of his across the pub table.

And then what?

Oh yeah, I practically launched myself at him and then brought him back here.

Memories suddenly return to me like little kernels of popcorn popping in my brain.

The laughter that bubbled up inside of me as we left the pub and the moment I decided to say,fuck itand throw caution to the wind, kissing him in a parking lot where anyone could’ve seen us.

The feeling of Joel’s skilled fingers slowly sliding my panties down my legs and his lips trailing up the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, his tongue and fingers slipping inside my wet heat and then pumping languidly as he sucked on my clit.

And lest I not forget, that instant when he flipped me over onto my stomach and slammed inside of me, thrusting so deep that I nearly saw stars and then did see them when he played my swollen bundle of nerves like a musical instrument. Especially when he pulled me over his face and lapped at my pussy like I was the best thing he’d ever had.

Damn him.

He’s the best lover I’ve ever been with. The sex last night was even better than I remember from the ski trip.

He’s in a league all his own.

Whether it’s from the stamina gained from playing football or just his youthful virility this man does things to me that no one has ever done, taking me to the precipice and back again, over and over, until I am a limp noodle.

The man gifted me with multiple orgasms using his tongue and fingers and that was before his very impressive dick even got involved. It’s very well possible Joel Henderson has a magic cock.

Speaking of which. I glance down at the tented sheet covering his morning wood. There’s an irrational part of me that wants to take him in my mouth and let him fuck my face until I’m swallowing his release down my throat. Or maybe he’d yank me off my knees before he comes, toss me on the bed and then thrust into me while holding my legs wide, just like he did last night.

Fuck, that was so hot.

Why did sex with him have to be so good? Is it because he’s absolutely off-limits to me? Or perhaps because I secretly love that he’s younger and I find that sexy?

Joel is literally the whole package. He’s the type of man I dream of meeting—cockiness and all. It’s that component that makes him seriously hot.

Stop calling him hot, I chastise myself, slipping on yoga pants and a T-shirt and leaving the room to go in search of my trainers.

I’ll go get some coffee and clear my head. Give myself some space away from his sexy pheromones that obviously make me a total twat.

With no lectures on my schedule this morning, I’d been planning on spending this morning holed up in my office to work on my research paper, yet here I am, arguing with myself over the conundrum I’ve put myself in.

I finish lacing my shoes when, as if on cue, the sound of the toilet flushing draws my attention to my bedroom door. A moment later, Joel stands in front of me in nothing but his jeans. My hungry gaze zeros in on the “V” of muscle tapering low, covered with a thatch of dark hair disappearing into the waistband. The terrain my tongue explored last night. My mouth salivates.

His thumb loops in that waistband and he leans his shoulder into the door jamb. The action tugs his jeans further and skyrockets his sexy meter up from a hundred to a thousand. He smirks at me knowingly and I look back down to my shoes.

“See anything of interest, Professor?” he teases.

I practically growl. “No. In fact, I need to go. I have a conference call in a bit. I need to leave. Feel free to have a coffee,” I say and haphazardly motion to the one-cup coffee maker sitting on my counter.

“Okaaay…” An eyebrow quirks up suspiciously. “And you’re going to go on to campus in running clothes?”

I glance down at my choice of clothing and grimace. I’ve obviously been caught in a lie but now it’s too late.

“It’s just a call.” I wave my hand and stand up, turning toward the door.

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