Page 99 of The Game Plan
“Peach, fuck, baby. You look so good on your knees for me.” I’m grateful he doesn’t argue about me on my knees for him. I need to taste him, to thank him, and I think he’s as eager for my touch, too.
I slide his zipper down, pulling his pants next, then his boxers. His cock springs free, and I lick my lips at the size of his length before bringing it to my lips.
“Peach,” he groans.
Letting my tongue swirl over his length, I circle the head before licking down his vein. My hand grips his base, and he grows even harder. I didn’t think it was possible.
As I press a kiss to his tip, I stare into his dark eyes. “Thank you for giving me a safe place to live.” Moaning, I lick up his shaft. “Thank you for being a father to my daughter.” Then, the other side. “Thank you for loving me.” I drag my tongue along the underside of his cock. “Thank you for giving me hope.”
Then I swallow him down the back of my throat. Grant fists my hair as he groans. His voice reverberates off the walls, and I swear our neighbors can hear him.
“Fuck, Peach. No, thank you.” He moans, legs tensing. “Thank you for letting me into your life.”
His hips buck forward, the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat. I open wide and take him as far as I can, until I’m gagging. He pulls back a little. “Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”Thrust. “Your daughter.”Thrust. “Your life.”
I moan around his cock and squeeze my thighs together, shifting to satisfy the ache between my legs. My hand dips lower, and I try to press my hand to my clit, but I’m basically wearing an adult diaper and nothing is helping.
“Yeah, Peach. Touch yourself. You look so pretty on your knees with my cock sliding between your lips.”
By some miracle, I’m able to get some friction against my clit. My fingers circle faster and faster to build the orgasm I’m craving. He grips my hair in a tight fist as he continues thrusting, his hips jerking to get farther inside me.
“Come for me, Peach. Come for me while you take every last drop from my cock,” he growls. I slide my hand, not touching myself, from the base of him until I’m gripping his balls. He hisses as I tug gently and swallow around the head.
Tears blur my vision as I trail my fingers over myself, the heat coiling tighter with every deliberate stroke. My body thrums with electricity. Every nerve ending feels alive, pulsing in time with the rhythm I set. I moan and tilt my hips, chasing the delicious tension building deep inside me, every touch sending shivers up my spine.
My head bobs faster with his hand guiding me. Muscles tightening, I tremble with need, until the pressure snaps, and I’m flooded with a wild, shattering euphoria. I cry out around his thick cock. A roar escapes Grant as he comes so hard I can barely keep up. As he continues rocking, milking every ounce, I swallow down his release.
Slowly, I slide my mouth from him with a pop. He shudders as a drop of his cum slips from my lips. He reaches forward, wiping the drop with his thumb as my tongue reaches out to lick it.
“Every last drop,” I mumble.
“You’re so fucking perfect.”
I smile. “I love you.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, still completely bare from the waist down. Warm hands grip my face as he presses a kiss to my lips. His tongue slides inside my mouth, not worried about tasting himself, but it’s not a heated kiss like before. It’s slow and passionate.
“I love you, too.”
The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch. Much to everyone’s surprise, dinner’s delicious. While I clean the kitchen, even with Grant’s argument, he and Lennon play on the floor. He reads her book after book while she kicks her feet on the blanket next to him. I might’ve stolen a few pictures and posted a carousel on social media.
I’m wary of posting images of her. Not only because of the creeps on the internet and the media that surrounds sports, but also because my mom has no idea she has a granddaughter. I keep my account private and rarely post her full face in any of the photos, but I still want to share these moments with my family and friends who don’t live close to us.
Now in bed, I snuggle in deeper under my covers, wishing sleep would take me, but for some reason, I can’t drift off to sleep. Grant sprawls out on his stomach, one arm slung across my waist while the other is hidden beneath his pillow. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and my guilt swirled at how exhausted he is. Since Lennon was born, he’s been doing the middle-of-the-night feedings. I’m capable, but he’s worried about my recovery. Which is sweet, but who’s looking out for him?
I watch the man I love sleep. His face is relaxed as his long eyelashes brush his cheeks. It’s completely unfair that men get such beautiful lashes when we would kill for them—or spend insane amounts on extensions. He’s no longer Coach Campbell or in Dad mode, but Grant. The man who has stood by my side with patience. Who held my hand during every contraction and changed the first diaper with shaky hands, afraid to make a mistake. He’s the guy who learned songs by my comfort artist and sings them to my daughter in the middle of the night. The guy who leaves sweet notes scattered around the house so I never question my worth or how much he loves me.
My mind drifts to this morning when I rolled over and found a yellow sticky note on his pillow.
I’ve been keeping them in a spare shoebox in the back of my closet. One of these days, I’m going to get around to making a scrapbook filled with our college memories. He doesn’t know it, but there isn’t much I’ve thrown out from our time together. Movie stubs and game tickets. Pictures from parties and silly selfies in our dorm rooms. Fortunes from Chinese cookies and a wristband from a concert. Even when I was scared to give him my heart fully, he’s held it. Protected it. Nurtured it. Allowed me the space to grow.
Grant Campbell has always owned a part of my soul.
And now it’s his completely.
I brush my fingers down his spine, not wanting to wake him, but needing to feel him.
“Still awake?” he murmurs into the pillow, voice thick with sleep.
