Page 77 of Winning Match
Somewhere over the past six weeks, I fell in love with my fake girlfriend. Hopelessly in love with a woman who is leaving in a month.
This wasn’t part of the agreement, not even close. And yet, as I watch Marlowe sleep, my heart rate increases, my stress melts away, and I want nothing more than to spend the morning—the entire fucking day—in this bed with her.
As if she feels me watching her, she stirs. Fluttering eyelashes that open to cornflower blue eyes. Eyes that hold the world in their depths. She stretches, flexing her back, craning her neck, and turning into my body. “Good morning.”
“Buenas, mi niña.” I drop a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well?”
She snickers. “Is that what we’re calling last night?”
My blood heats from the sound of her voice, still husky with sleep. From the humor and heat already flaring in the depths of her irises, from the feel of her body against mine.
She tilts her chin, a silent question.
And I answer it by kissing her. Soft, slow, and sweet.
She shifts, tossing a slender leg over my thighs and tugging me closer.
I lift a hand to her cheek, my fingertips threading through her hair, as I roll over her.
Pinned beneath me, our limbs tangled, our hands caressing, Marlowe smiles. “Best birthday ever.”
I chuckle, dropping my mouth to hers for another kiss as I finger the gold anchor around her neck. The only thing she’s wearing. “I’m happy you enjoyed it.”
Kiss.
Her eyes widen. “I more than enjoyed it.”
Kiss.
“Can we stretch that pleasure a little further?”
Kiss.
Her giggle. “We should definitely try.”
Kiss.
This time, the sweetness turns spicy. I slip my tongue between her parted lips and drag it sinfully slow across hers. She moans, her arm banding around my back, her hand gripping my shoulder blade as her hips tilt up. Seeking. Wanting. Loving.
Marlowe and I make love on an ordinary Thursday morning. And the entire world shifts on its axis. My future opens up even as seeds of worry plant themselves in my heart. I ignore them, too caught up in this moment of pure ecstasy.
Flipping us, I turn until my back hits the mattress. Marlowe grins at me, her expression open and happy. Pure fucking sunshine in one of the sunniest cities in Europe. And she eclipses it. Marlowe blocks everything out until there’s only her. She moves sensually, one hand wrapped around the bed frame, one hand tangled with mine. She works me over until I’m panting, desperate for release, but not until she gets there first.
“Oh, God, Ale, please,” she practically begs as she slides up and down. Up and down.
Slow and torturous. Fast and needy.
“I got you,” I growl, reaching between her legs to drag my fingers across the bundle of nerves pulsing. Her clit is slippery with her want, and the intensity of her arousal has me gritting against my own impending release.
Not yet. Not fucking yet.
I rub her clit once, twice, and then?—
“I’m coming,” she says, a little bit shocked.
I don’t stop my ministrations. Instead, I stare up at her as she breaks apart—a fucking sunburst that turns me inside out. My blood heats, my body strains. Marlowe collapses against my chest and I hold her tight, banding an arm around her back.
I piston my hips up. Powerful thrusts that have her moaning and me teetering on the edge of the sweetest ecstasy I’ve ever known.
