Page 57 of The Comeback Pact

“Fuck,” I growl, that rubber band of restraint straining. I move my hand from her face to her hip, kneading it before pulling her to me. Her yielding body molds to mine. Tentatively, she raises her knee, so I can get closer. Oh so fucking close. Her breasts are pressed against my chest, her lips forming over mine again and again.

I dive my tongue inside her mouth, and she responds by hitching her knee higher up my hip until my cock meets her soft flesh. Her fingers curl around my shirt, scraping the skin of my pecs underneath. “West.”

Her lips move over my own as I gulp in air. Our gazes meet, and all it does is make me hungry for more.

I start the kiss again, plunging into her mouth and palming her ass, urging her against me.

My cock is rock solid in my jeans. The stupid zipper keeps dragging across me, but to hear the little noises coming from her throat, I wouldn’t stop for anything. “You feel so fucking good,” I groan.

She drops her head to my shoulder, her hips rocking into my cock. “This is so embarrassing, but I might come from this.”

Fuck being embarrassed. “Like this?” I ask, moving with her finally.

A restrained cry catches in her throat. “West.”

I’m addicted now. I want my name on her lips forever.

She shifts, circling her clit over my dick. I get lost in the moment before remembering I can’t come in my jeans. That’s a rookie move.

I urge her over me, faster, tighter. She grinds out in frustration, and I lower my hands to her jeans. “May I?”

She nods, her face flush.

I undo the button and then slowly lower her zipper, watching her face. She’s searching mine, her chest rubbing across my pecs while I lower her jeans enough to press into her nub, then swirl over her clit.

“Oh,” she sighs, leaning her head back into the pillow as I take control. Her fingers flex into my skin.

I love the way her body yields to me, softening under my touch. The way she just lies back, as if she knows I’m going to take care of her. “Does this feel good, baby?”

She nods again, and I pick up on as many subtle cues as I can before I find her perfect speed and pressure. My thumb gets wetter and wetter. Before too long, she grabs my forearm and slides down to my wrist, her hips working against me before she throws her head back and lets out a silent scream.

Gulping air, her spent body molds to the bed, her jeans undone and open. Her hair fanned out over the pillowcase. She still has hold of my wrist, and her thumb traces the sensitive skin on the underside.

She giggles nervously, and it only endears me more. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she says.

“Me neither, but I couldn’t help myself.”

She props herself back up on her hand to stare at me. “I guess neither of us could.”

I have a feeling I might use that excuse a lot.

I touched your ass. I just couldn’t help myself.

I slid inside you. I just couldn’t help myself.

I stared at you, again and again. I just couldn’t help myself.

“So, the football jersey?” she asks after a little while.

My gaze moves behind her to my jersey folded neatly over her desk chair. “Yeah?” My heart nearly skips. I remember what it felt like to see her put that on for the first time.

“Does it mean what Sydney thinks it means?”

My lips curl. “What does Sydney think it means?”

Kenna looks away then, her feet fidgeting against one another.

I watch for a moment, in awe that I could make someone feel like this. I’m used to fan talk. To jersey chasers telling me how amazing I am, even though I’m sure they don’t understand a single thing about what it takes to get to where I am, and they sure as hell don’t know where I’ve come from.

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