He’s humping me now. Roughly. Through our pants.
Staring me right in the eye, upper lip curled in a snarl.
And I want it.
I think I’ve had an orgasm before. Once when I was taking a bath, I found a spot between my legs that felt really nice to touch, but…wait, the more he drags that ridge up and down the seam of my yoga pants, the more I’m starting to think orgasms don’t merely feel nice. They’re like living things clawing to get free. That’s what I’m experiencing now, this burning grind of my intimate muscles, the lack of oxygen or rational thought. Just sinking my fingers into his juicy athlete’s butt and yanking, yanking him into the juncture of my thighs.
Oh lord, oh lord, what’s coming?
There’s a knock at the door.
“Eric? Greta?”
It’s my father.
If anything, Eric’s hips move faster, his expression turning into a mask of possessiveness. “Not stopping. Can’t stop. Tell him we’ll be right there,” he grunts, shoving my knees higher, folding me in two, body punching and grinding into mine, couch springs complaining loudly beneath us, the sound mingling with our panting breaths. Deep in my sex, there’s a quickening. A glorious inferno of sensation that won’t be held back, scrambling my brain.
And so I’m looking Eric right in the face when I call out, “I-I’m coming, Daddy.”
Something primal flares in Eric’s eyes and he makes a choked sound, his hard body stiffening. Warmth rushes between my legs, his lower body making jerky, stuttered movements. He grinds down roughly, baring his teeth and pushing me over the finish line, which I am quite sure I’ve never been over before now, because my God, I’m whining into his mouth like a baby. He muffles the euphoric sound at the last second, his own throat issuing long, gritty groans that pulsate along my tongue. And there was something, an extra something about looking this man in the eye and saying the word daddy that holds me in thrall, makes me tremble that much harder on the way over the cliff.
We lie there for long moments after the waves of pleasure fade into a glow, his mouth moving possessively but lazily over mine, his hips still pumping slowly, as if the movement is unconscious. Casual ownership that should make me want to slap him again. It doesn’t, though. I’m tripping through a forest of wonder, amazed than another human being can make me forget myself so completely.
I’ll have to be really careful with this man.
Or I might actually break my rules and end up his wife.
The fact that I’m even contemplating such a thing jolts me, inviting Eric’s scrutiny. He opens his mouth to say something when there is another, more insistent knock on the door. “The press is here to get a shot of you signing the contract, Bentley,” comes my father’s voice from the other side. “We need you out here.”
It seems to cause Eric physical pain to roll off me and stand. Immediately, he pulls me to my feet as well, rocking me side to side in the cradle of his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. “Do I get my chance with you, Greta?” he asks, gruffly.
It’s no mystery that I’m as stubborn as they come, but I can’t help but want to give this man what he’s asking for. He took my concerns into account and adapted. He compromised…and I really like that. So I find myself nodding into his chest, letting him fix my clothing and smooth my hair. He brings me into the small bathroom and holds a hand towel soaked in cool water to my neck, kissing me on the forehead. And then he takes my hand and walks with me out of the private box, looking my father right in the eye as we pass, his expression communicating one thing and one thing only.
Mine.
Chapter Five
Eric
Greta arrives at my doorstep late that night. On purpose. That much is clear. She might be bending her own rules, but she’s making it known—loud and clear—that she’s at my home on her own terms. And Jesus Christ, the bratty look she gives me when she steps out of her little pink sports car makes my cock hard.
The goddamn thing has been stiff as a pike since I signed the contract this afternoon and she breathed a sigh of relief. Surprise, too. That I put my signature on the dotted line without forcing her into marriage.
She doesn’t need to know I signed the wrong name.
Coach Welding was so glad to have it done that he didn’t check, either, shoving the documents back into the file and crowing about future championships to the gathered press. Maybe no one will ever need to know about the phony signature. It’s possible that I’ll win Greta entirely on my own and won’t need to point out the contract was never truly signed, but there is no way I would leave something so important to chance. This girl is the breath in my lungs. If her stubborn streak prevents us from being together, I’ll have to show her mine.
When she stops in front of me at the front door, the light, crushed berries scent teasing my nose, I do encounter a flash of regret that I’ve duped her. She believes I’m a better man—and I will be. I will be as soon as I know she’s staying.
Permanently.
“Hi Eric,” she says, haltingly, her nervous tone totally at odds with the haughty set to her chin. This girl is going to be a handful. I knew this the moment I saw her, but I’m reminded now. Not only because she’s got a temper. Not only because she is stubborn as hell, but because she’s got a tender heart lurking beneath her beautiful surface—the kind that could gut a man for all its vulnerabilities. She’s trying to put me on the defensive by showing up late. Trying to act like she’s in charge, but the truth is, she’s feeling exposed. Her fingers are trembling around the handle of her overnight bag and her shoulders are tensed in the vicinity of her ears.
That’s when I notice the textbook sticking out of her bag.
Sports medicine.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at it.
She follows my line of sight. “In case you bore me and I need to study.”
My laughter cracks and she smiles slyly, all while I make a mental note to check into private tutoring for the times she’ll be with me on the road. Female tutoring. “Studying, huh?” I take the bag out of her hands, tipping my head toward the open entrance so she’ll precede me. “Never really considered this dilemma.”
“Which dilemma?”
I follow after her into the house, salivating over the twitch of her buns beneath the short, white pleated skirt. God, if I don’t get her beneath me soon, I’m going to blow. “Who disciplines you for a bad grade now, when you haven’t agreed to marry me yet? Me or Rick?”
She sends me a sniff over her smooth shoulder. “I discipline myself just fine, thank you.”
“Is that right?” We stop in the foyer, coming toe to toe, making it necessary for Greta to tip her head back, and I’m momentarily struck speechless by having her here, looking so beautiful in my home. It was just another four walls until she walked in. “How do you do discipline yourself?”
“When I get a bad grade, I force myself to watch basketball.”
Again, my laughter catches me off guard, ricocheting off the white, Spanish-style interior of the house and I close in on Greta, setting down her bag, my hands settling on her hips. Squeezing. Circling around to her butt and gripping it tight on both sides beneath her skirt, kneading the taut flesh, watching her mouth fall open on a gasp. “I’ll make you a bet.”