Page 70 of Broken Play
Her back is to me, and her legs are flying in all directions. "I thought you snuck out after saving the team from another opening-home-game loss."
My voice is low, just above a whisper. "I've been waiting to have you all to myself." I let her down and spin her so she's facing me. "Do you want to show me your gratitude, Boss?" I murmur over her lips, grazing her flesh just enough to cause a shiver. I grin, tightening my grip around her waist.
She arches a brow, looking from left to right, her lips turning upward in a sly smile. "Is that what you want, Ten?" Her hands slip around my neck, and her fingers draw circles on my skin. My body is ready and aware of what we both want. "You want me to show you how grateful I am?"
"How grateful are you?"
"So grateful," she rasps, her voice already full of need. "But don't get cocky."
"I'll let my body do the talking—on and off the field." I keep her close, our mouths only an inch apart.
"Oh, you will? Can you perform?" she asks, her laugh soft and wicked as she drags out the wordperform.
"You've never complained." My hands trace the curve of her hips, feeling the fabric of her leggings. "If you want me to demonstrate, I'm more than willing." My erection presses against her stomach.
Her eyes glimmer. "So, you think you call the plays off the field?"
Spinning her around, I pin her against the cool, gold lockers. "I've let you be in control, but now it's my turn. You can thank me later." My lips graze the curve of her jaw.
"You've got forty-four seconds, Ten. Prove you can handle the pressure off the field too."
It's not lost on me that that was how much time was left in the game when we got the ball back. Her words are barely out of her mouth before my lips collide with hers, claiming any words she may have left. Her hands twist in my damp hair, urging me to kiss her deeper and longer.
I push her leggings down. "No panties. You're being a bad, bad girl. And this jersey has to go. It's not mine, and if you plan on wearing a jersey again, it better be mine." I sling it onto the floor. I'm probably down to thirty seconds, so I suck on her chest while fingering her and playing with her bundle of nerves.
Sutton rasps, "The clock is...ticking."
Anticipation lingers in the air as I drop to my knees and suck her folds and her pretty pink clit while my fingersplunge into her silken, juice-covered inner walls. Her body stiffens, and her muscles tighten around my fingers. She calls out, "Ten, Ten."
I don't know whether she's counting down or calling me by her nickname, but I suck harder, bite harder, and she pants, "Yes, yes, yes."
Her juices cover my fingers when I pull them out and stand. I lick one and then stick my finger in her mouth. "You taste like fresh summer rain. Delicious and fresh."
"It's all for you, Greyson." She tries to smirk, but it comes out all breathy and seductive.
"Since I won the challenge, it's my turn." The last of my self-control burns away. Her body is full of sweet heat.
She nips at my bottom lip, fumbling with my belt.
Damn, why did I dress?
Her impatience is a turn-on—every frantic movement of her hands making me harder, every urgent tug at my belt a silent plea I want to answer. Her skin is flushed and feverish beneath my palms, burning with a hungry need I can feel all the way to my bones.
The locker room lights flicker out on the other side of the room, not detecting any movement. She slides down my body as my pants pool around my feet. She takes me in her mouth, and my body stutters—it feels so good. It's like I've never gotten a blow job. I'm not sure why it feels so different, but it does. She's trying to get me off in forty-four seconds, which I promise will not happen. If it does, then I'm not man enough for her. Sutton Anders deserves a man who can please her ten times over before he comes.
Hungry and confident, she hollows her cheeks and takes me as far as she thinks she can. I plant my palm at the base of her neck and pull her closer, pumping, over and over, intoher mouth. Her little moans cause me to praise her. "Your lips should be on the Ten Most Wanted list."
She pops off, still holding my base, and says, "As long as I'm on your most wanted list."
"Fuck, babe, you're the only one on my list."
Neither of us can get enough; the harder I piston my hips, the more she takes. I'm getting so close, but I can't go yet. "I'm making another list. It's been a dream of mine to fuck you in my jersey in the locker room."
"It has?"
I tug her up, keeping one arm around her as I yank my dirty jersey from the locker and pull it over her head.
"It's big."
