I know what he’s gone through with his knee, the struggle about going to LA, and he keeps it all inside.
He’s a mess of contradictions.
Finding out he had that picture threw me because it meant not only did he support my work by buying it for an exorbitant price, but he was somehow responsible for it showing up in a top magazine.
He said in his letter that he didn’t care, but his actions since have proved otherwise.
His actions keep proving otherwise.
“Someone in here?”
An unfamiliar voice at the door makes us stiffen.
Clay spins to hide my body from whoever’s entering.
“Oh, Wade. Thank you again for the check last week. I wouldn’t still be in business without you.”
When the man shuts the door after him, I can breathe again.
My hands fist in the back of Clay’s sweater. “What was that about?”
He turns to stare me down.
“Because it sounds like you helped that man save his bar,” I go on, digging a finger into his muscled chest. “This is your problem. You barely say two words, and it leaves people to think the worst of you.”
Clay shifts on his feet. “It was nothing.”
I fold my arms and glare up at him. “Everything is nothing with you.”
“You with another guy isn’t nothing.” His teeth grind together as he leans over me. “Miles. Whoever took you out the other night. They’re not good enough for you.”
“And you are?”
He grabs my chin and kisses me hard.
His lips are hot and firm, his body bending mine around the metal post between my shoulders. I want to tell him to back off, but the scorching heat of his mouth, the grip of his fingers, sends electricity through me that I haven’t felt in weeks.
It’s wrong, but it’s so good, and I kiss him back.
My hands fist the sweater at his waist, the hard muscles bunching beneath my touch.
What Miles leaned over to tell me was that his good game was thanks to Clay.
Everything comes back to him.
He takes the move as consent and leans in.
The last weeks without him piled up like a crushing weight, and now that he’s so close, all I want is to lose myself in his grumpy embrace.
When he wedges his knee between my parted thighs, I move against him. My back arches, and my hips undulate of their own accord, pressing against his leg.
He licks between my lips and grabs the waistband of my jeans. The zipper gives way as he yanks it down.
Clay shoves the fabric off my hips and down my legs, dragging my thong with it. Then a hand is between my thighs.
“Miles plays backup for me, sweetheart.” His voice is a rasp as his lips drag across my cheek, his teeth nipping at my ear. “I know you didn’t get this wet for him.”
But I can’t be embarrassed when he plunges two fingers inside me, hard and deep. The touch ignites me, and I try and fail to swallow a moan.
His fingers thrust, proving his point.
I need to feel his skin without all these clothes.
My hands sneak up under his sweater. His skin is hot and smooth, satin over ridges of hard-won muscle.
He groans. “Say you came back for me. For us.”
My heart kicks.
None of it makes sense. He’s the one who broke things off.
But it’s impossible to think when he’s pumping in and out, long strokes that push me to the limit. My body welcomes him as though he never left, as though every day was a tick mark on a cell wall while I waited for him to return and set me free.
He rubs the sweet spot inside that makes me convulse.
“Wait,” I say.
Clay pulls back an inch, our breath still mingling in pants.
“You told me the next time you made me come, it wouldn’t be on your fingers.”
His eyes gleam.
He spins me around and bends me over, forcing me to grab the post for balance as he spreads me wide.
His lips brush down my back, my thighs.
Oh God.
I want this. I’ve wanted him for so long.
He licks a strip from the top of my pussy all the way back.
It’s so good it hurts. I’m in physical pain from how tight I’m strung, my core begging for a release I know deep down only he can give me.
“Beautiful girl. Bet you’re aching for me to fill you up right now.”
I want to touch him, but in this position, I can’t reach.
His muscled arms wrap around the tops of my thighs and hold me in place.
Clay teases me with his tongue, slicking across my skin and diving inside.
He spreads me wider, exposing every inch of me to his attention.
“The things I’ve imagined doing when I had you like this,” he murmurs.
The past month, I’ve tried not to think of him when I’m alone in bed touching myself.
But it’s always him.
It’s impossible to imagine someone else when I’ve been with him.
Still, he doesn’t fill me with anything except his tongue, and even that strays inside for only a second before returning to my clit and my folds.
It’s maddening.
My moan spills out, the sounds of my pleasure echoing off the walls.
My fingers flex on the post, my toes curling in my shoes.
It’s as if his only mission in life right now is to make me feel him, to want him. Only him. Always him.
I never thought I’d be getting tongue-fucked by an all-star against a shelf in the back of a pub. But then, I’ve grown a lot this fall.
I arch my back, inviting him.
My fingers let go of the post and I reach back to grab his shoulder, twisting to try and look at him.
“You’re so sweet on my tongue,” he groans. “You’d be even sweeter on my cock.”
His expression is feral, the tattoos on his forearms like devils coming out to play as he grips me.
The pleasure builds until I'm out of my mind with need. My vision blurs.
He sucks me one more time, punishingly long and deep on a low groan that fills the room.
Ecstasy explodes through my body, each nerve firing off sparks of pure bliss that threaten to consume me completely.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me close in a desperate embrace from behind.
We don’t speak, just hold each other.
I’m wrecked, but in some ways, this feels inevitable.
“Turn around.” He murmurs it as my heart rate comes back down.
I do. My pants are still around my ankles, my face flushed.
I’m shaking from the orgasm, but the air still crackles between us.
He looks at me with an intensity that takes my breath away.
We’re not done, I realize as he reaches into his pants and pulls out his cock.
And wow.
He’s huge and thick, and I never thought a dick could be beautiful, but I was wrong.
“Quit trying to distract me with compliments,” he growls.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You did with your eyes.”
“It wasn’t a compliment. I’m just surprised you’re not tattooed there.”
He half laughs, half coughs. “I’m not that stupid.”
My lips twitch too, until he drops his other hand between my thighs and draws a gasp from me.
His touch is there only long enough to coat his fingers with my wetness.
Then he grips his cock.
My throat dries.