“Sit on my face,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost a groan, as if he can’t take it anymore. I do as I’m told and shiver at the first lick over my clit. “Move, baby,” he commands, but he’s the one gripping my ass, making sure I move over his tongue. He’s no longer teasing, but sucking my clit and licking my folds, and when he reaches up to roll my nipples with his fingers, I feel my entire body go hot and cold, and start to come on his mouth.
Mitch doesn’t give me a chance to fully come down from the orgasm before he tosses me on my back and starts pumping his fingers inside of me.
“Fuck,” is all I can manage. Groans and pleads and mewls as he takes what he wants or gives me what I want, the two are entwined in each other now. His fingers work my clit and inside, and my eyes roll and my back arches and I can’t help but orgasming again. This time, I don’t wait. I sit up and push him back against the headboard and sit on him.
“Holy shit.” He hisses as I take him in completely and begin to ride him hard and fast. “Fuck, Misty. Fuck.”
“God, you feel good,” I moan.
“You were made for me,” he says, and catches my eye as he palms my breasts, his expression hazy with lust, echoing my own. “You were fucking made for me.”
I keep rocking against him, feeling the familiar pressure build as he pumps into me. His body tenses against mine and I know he’s close. I pick up the pace, throwing my head back, feeling every inch of him hitting me inside as his fingers find my clit again. My knees begin to shake, my entire body seems to buckle over him, and then I come. He flips me around quickly and pulls out, coming on me, the warm, sticky liquid hitting my breasts, my stomach, my chin. I hold his gaze as he marks me, and I feel myself crack open for him once more. He climbs out of bed and brings back a wet towel to clean me with, helping me get up and leading me to the bathroom. Our eyes meet in the mirror and I feel my heart explode. As if feeling the same, he turns me to face him and kisses me deeply. When he pulls away, he exhales and looks at me for a long moment.
“I love you.” He swallows. “I should have said that to you five years ago. I’ve loved you since then. That’s why this is going to work this time. I’ve been holding out for you.”
“You’ve been holding out for me?” I raise an eyebrow.
“My heart, babe. My heart is yours.”
“And your body.” I run a finger down his chiseled torso.
“Fuck yes.” He kisses me again, then carries me back to bed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Misty
I take a deep breath and let it out as I wait for Valerie’s feedback on my article. She’s been reading it slowly, as if analyzing every single word and it’s making me feel like I need to throw up. In high school, I was the editor of my newspaper and in charge of yearbook. At Duke, I quickly joined the newspaper team and have written more articles than I can count. Yet, none have been more important than this one. Judging by Mitch and his teammates reactions to it when I let them read it last week, I know I did the players justice.
“This is good.” Valerie looks up from the screen and takes off her reading glasses.
“Thanks.” I wring my hands together on my lap. “I stuck to the facts.”
“You paint the athletes in a really good light. You don’t even name the ones arrested for selling drugs.”
“Well, I didn’t think it was important. These athletes live and breathe their sport and don’t have an opportunity to make money, so most of them are jobless. If a man who’s seemingly rich offers them an opportunity to make easy money, why wouldn’t they take it?”
“I agree.” Valerie nods. “This is a fair and deep analysis to the issues colleges need to look at. It’s brilliant, Misty.”
“You really think so?” I hold my breath, because even though I know she liked it, I feel like I still have so much learning and growing to do.
“I know so.”
“Do you think you’ll publish it?” I bite my lip, knee bouncing as I wait for her to confirm or deny this.
“I mean . . . “ she turns the computer screen to face me and I see a photograph of Mitch and some of his teammates wearing their uniforms and looking at the camera. They’re all serious, like they mean business. My heart skips a beat at the sight of Mitch. It skips another when I read the bottom of the cover. College Sports – Professionals or Not? By Misty Canó
I bring my attention back to Valerie. “This is real?”
“I mean, the title may change, but yes, this is real.” She smiles. “Congratulations, Misty. You should be receiving an A in the class and a front page debut in our magazine.”
“Oh my . . . ” I whisper. “Can I buy a copy?”
“You’ll be provided a few copies. I’ll give you an unfinished one right now.” She winks. “Go celebrate.”
I walk out of the building feeling like I’m walking on a cloud. Mitch is standing outside of his car, practicing his pitching with no ball and no mound. It’s something he does constantly. There isn’t a moment when he’s not talking about or practicing his sport. I find myself both amused and in awe of his determination. Mitch was the one who sat quietly in bed beside me as I finished this article. He was the one who kept telling me I could do it, even when that blank page and blinking curser on my screen felt like an impossibility. When I get closer, he stops pitching and closes the distance between us.
“How’d it go?”
I wave the pages in my hand, tears filling my eyes.
“They’re publishing it?” He grins wide, rushing over now, opening his arms for me and wrapping them so tightly around me that I think I may just break. “They’re publishing it.”
* * *
“They’re publishing it,” I say between tears. He sets me down and wipes them with his thumbs, crashing his lips against mine and pulling away to search my eyes.
“Are you happy?”
“So happy.” I laugh, new tears spilling. “Look.”
He takes the unfinished magazine from my hands, the magazine his parents own, and even though that would normally have made me think this was given to me, I know better than that. I worked for this. I wrote an incredible article. I followed these guys who became my family and this one in particular whom I proudly call my boyfriend. I did this. Mitchell looks at the magazine in his hands, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says, glancing at me. “So proud, baby.”
“Thank you.” I wipe my tears. “I dedicated it to someone.”
“Really?” He goes through it and stops when he reaches the beginning of the article. I watch his eyes as they move over the words, and his smile when he’s done reading it. He shakes his head again and looks up at me. “My girlfriend is a legit journalist.”
“Very legit.” I smile wide.
“This means so much to me. To all of us, but to me especially.” He hugs me close again. “Thank you for telling the world how hard we work.”
“You show them that every season. I just stated the facts.” I kiss his jaw.