The hotel suite has a huge four-poster bed, and he carries me across the carpeted floor before setting me gently on my feet.
“Turn around.”
I do, and he works the zipper down on my dress. It falls off, landing in a pool at my feet. When I turn back to him, his hungry gaze runs over me from my heels to my lace panties and bra.
He groans as he lays me down on the cool sheets, my hair splaying around my head.
“I told myself I forgot how you taste.”
“You have a short memory,” I breathe.
Clay reaches for the buttons on his shirt, unfastening them one at a time with huge hands. His gaze never leaves mine.
I shift up onto my elbows, breathless at the sight of him. He’s a god, strong and eternal, but the emotion in his eyes says he’s a man. He strips off his shirt, revealing the planes and muscles that make me hot for him. The ink that tells stories so his lips don’t have to.
He takes his time.
Clay starts with my lips, kissing me until they’re swollen.
My throat is next, my collarbone and the tops of my breasts. It’s as if he needs to reassure himself I’m real.
He tugs my bra down under my breasts, pushing them up. Then he fists one hand in my hair as he lowers himself over me. He worships me, licking and sucking one nipple before moving to the other, holding me in place.
I try to reach for him, but he pins my hands over my head. It’s both gentle and feral at once.
No man has ever touched me like this.
When his hand slides down my stomach under the lace of my panties, I arch against his touch.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing where I’m already soaked.
He slips a finger inside me, filling me in a way that’s achingly familiar. He touches me until I’m crying out around him, then he bends his mouth to me.
What feels so good is that he’s here with me, body and soul.
Present.
Completely.
Every inch of intention and commitment steals my breath. It’s as if he’s making up for months of questions and regrets.
If I could speak, I’d tell him he’s more than accomplished it.
I reach for his pants and work them off his lean hips. He’s hard and thick, arched up toward his muscled abs.
I throb.
I’m actually pulsing with want, shaking with the need to be connected with him like this.
“Clay,” I whisper, and his hooded gaze finds mine. “Hurry.”
“I don’t want to rush this.” He’s still tracing a finger up the inside of my thigh. It’s exploratory, teasing, as if he hasn’t already touched the deepest parts of me.
“Please.”
He stills for a moment.
Then he grabs me under the knees and lifts my hips up to meet him.
This first feel of his cock is dizzying. He’s thick and impossibly hard.
Every time, I question whether I can take him.
More than ever, I long to try.
With a tight exhale, he shifts his hips forward.
“Oh.” My fingers dig into the smooth muscle of his back. “Ohhhh,” I sigh as he sinks inside inch after impossible inch.
“Goddammit, Nova. You’re my heaven.”
Not just heaven. His heaven.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be anything as much as I wanted to be his.
He rocks into me, slow strokes that takes him deeper every time.
Clay pulls back to search my face for signs of pain or distress.
He won’t find any.
He could split me in two right now and I would pull him closer with white knuckles.
He thrusts. I squeeze.
I writhe. He groans.
Even as he’s possessing me, I’m possessing him.
My nails rake his back, and the only word on my lips is his name.
When he comes, he cries out mine.
“Remember when you got this tattoo?” I smile as I drag my fingers along the mountain ridge on his shoulder when we’re lying in bed and coming down from the high.
He nods. “One of the best nights of my life.”
My brows life. “You like it that much?”
“Those were good tacos.”
I hit him and he grins.
Now I’m thinking of that night too.
I bite my lip. “It must be almost time for a new one. What are you going to get? What symbolizes this year?”
“A dumpster fire?” he drawls, and I laugh.
“It’s not over,” I say softly.
“Thank fuck. I’ve got things I want to do.”
Before I can ask him what things, he goes on.
“What about your tattoo? Do I get to pick it out?”
“Depends. Where would you put it?”
He runs his fingers along my arm down to my wrist. “Here.”
Then he goes up to my collarbone, skimming down over the curve of my breast to rest on my ribs. “Or here.” Then continuing down over my hipbone, stopping just inside. “Or maybe here.”
“Oh, I see. You want what, your jersey number?”
His cock twitches against my leg. I snort in disbelief.
“I didn’t say a word,” Clay protests.
“No, but it turned you on. Your monster dick basically did a backflip at the thought.”
His eyes crinkle.
“Promise you’ll talk to me. If things get rough,” I whisper. “I’ve gotten stronger over the last year, but I hate feeling like you’re drifting and I can’t help you.”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I know because I’m going to work on me. But mostly because I know you. I see you. You’re as strong as you are beautiful.”
His lips bend closer and I inch toward him, but right before they brush mine, they skim across the tip of my nose instead.
“Speaking of talking…did anything happen with Kyle at the Halloween party?”
My breath catches. “Like what?”
I wish I knew where this was coming from so I could decide how much to say. It was nothing, really. In the moment, the confrontation felt like a bigger deal than it was. But it was over in a matter of seconds.
Clay lifts a dark brow. “Anything bad.”
I turn it over. It’s not worth causing problems between the team. They’re finally getting along, and I know how much this matters to him.
“I ran into him upstairs and told him he had a nice house. Why?”
Clay’s shoulder shrugs. “He’s kind of a prick.”
“You’re kind of a prick,” I tease, playing with his hair.
“People have to stop saying that,” he grumbles as he slides over me.
“If I fall asleep, am I going to wake up wearing your number in Sharpie?” I murmur against his lips, resisting his attempts to seduce me again.
“Possibly.”
“Then I’ll never get away from you. I’ll be ruined for any other guy. Or at least any other basketball player.”
He flips us so I’m on top, lacing our fingers together on both hands. “Mmm. Any other player comes for you, I’ll own his ass.”
Clay’s lips trail down my throat, and I arch against him.
“What, you’re going to write your number on him too?”
He covers my laughing mouth with his, and we don’t talk again for hours.