“No more,” I plead through labored breaths. Every nerve in my body is lit and even the soft kisses he’s trailing up my stomach cause my core to clench. “I need you inside of me.”
“Why didn’t you just say so?” He straightens at the base of the desk, lifting my hips to position himself right at my center. “You’re the one in charge here.”
He pushes in hard and fast, but my body is so primed and ready to go that it adjusts to him the second he enters me.
He pounds into me over and over again, but it’s not enough . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of him.
“Wait.” I place my palms on his hard, sweat-covered chest.
He pulls out without hesitation, concern coloring his expression. “Are you okay?”
I don’t even entertain that question with an answer. Instead I turn around and bend over my desk. “This way.”
When I look over my shoulder, his eyes are on my bare ass tilted up, and it only takes a second before his hands are gripping my hips, his fingernails biting into my skin, as he enters me from behind.
I arch my back, needing him deeper, wanting to feel him throughout my entire body. He drops one of his hands from my hip and wraps it in my ponytail, pulling my head back and deepening the curve of my back.
It’s exactly what I needed. That dull ache against my skull causes my body to tense and my core to throb around him. He speeds up his thrusts, each one harder and better than the last until my eyes close and my bones turn to jelly as the orgasm rips through my body.
“Oh my god!” I shout over the sounds of our skin slapping together and the moan Maxwell lets out as he comes.
Maxwell lifts me off of my desk and carries me to the couch. My body is still trembling from the intensity of my orgasm, and I know if I were to come again, I’d most likely die. But as soon as he tucks me into his front and I feel him behind me, I’m ready to go again.
I start to wiggle my butt against him, but before he can even respond, the doorbell rings again and I hear Paisley shouting my name.
“Shit!” I scramble off of the couch, searching for underwear and then realizing I def didn’t put any on this morning.
Well, crap.
This is going to be a long day . . . and with any luck, a longer night.
Thirty-two
I thought I hated the Lady Mustangs before.
I had no idea.
“It is freezing and I despise you all and how did you trick me into this?” I ask Vonnie, who, even though it is negative one million degrees outside, has somehow managed to still look fabulous and glamorous.
Me? Well, I’m bundled up in all of my skiing gear to the point where my arms can’t even rest flat against my body.
Vonnie drew the line at my goggles though.
This is the final regular-season game of the year. I learned upon eavesdropping that the Mustangs always save the food drive until this week. It doesn’t make sense to me. I thought they’d do it around Thanksgiving. But they said, when I acted on my eavesdropping and voiced my opinion, it’s because people forget to donate after November and they like to give a large donation to start off the New Year. It’s nice, I guess. If it were me, I’d do this in September when I couldn’t see my own breath.
“It’s for a good cause, Brynn,” Vonnie throws over her shoulder as she collects another bag of canned goods from some fans. “And if you are so miserable, why are you smiling?”
“This isn’t a smile!” I try to fold my glove-covered fingers to point at my face, but they are too thick, so I have to gesture with my whole hand. “My face is frozen like this!”
“I’m so sorry,” Vonnie says to the fans. “We love her, but she’s a little dramatic.”
Me? The dramatic one in this group? Is she serious right now? If glaring didn’t take up so much of the energy I’m using to keep warm, I would level her with a nasty one.
“Aren’t you from Colorado?” Jacqueline asks. “Shouldn’t you be used to this weather?”
“Yes, I am from Colorado, but unless I’m flying down a mountain, adrenaline heating my veins, I seek shelter, take my ass inside, and look at the snow through a window.” I know it doesn’t make sense because I really am not a fan of the cold, but I really do love skiing.
Jacqueline holds her Burberry-gloved hands up in front of her. “Geez. Sorry. The cold makes you sassy.”
I have a solid comeback on the tip of my tongue when a young boy, bundled in a North Face jacket and a Mustangs hat and scarf, walks up to me with a paper grocery bag filled with cans.
“Thank you so much.” I crouch into as deep of a squat as my layered legs can go. My voice shifts into my peppy customer service voice. “This is so nice of you. Are you so excited for the game today?”
“Yeah! We’re gonna kick Arizona’s butt!” he yells, giving me an unsolicited high five that stings some of the feeling back into my numb limbs.
“Heck yes they are! Those other guys aren’t even going to know what to do in this cold weather, buncha warm-weather babies.” Note to self, check prices for Arizona trip. “Who’s your favorite Mustang?”
He unzips his jacket despite his dad’s protest and the snowflakes that are beginning to fall. “Maxwell Lewis!” He bounces up and down on his toes, color rising in his already rosy cheeks. “All the kids in my class all wanna be the quarterback, but not me. Well, my mom and dad will only let me play flag football, but even in flag, I always love defense. I got eight interceptions last season.”
Holy cow. I thought Aviana talked fast.
“Eight?” I force my eyes wide like I have any clue what I’m talking about. “That’s incredible, dude!” I raise my hand and he gives me another glove-padded high five.
“Thanks! It was the most on my team and—” He starts to tell me more, but his dad steps in.
“All right, bud, I think we better get inside and find some of that cocoa before kickoff, don’t you think?”
The kid was starting to pout until he heard “cocoa,” and then I was nothing but a long-forgotten memory.
“Yes! Cocoa!” He turns on his boot and speed walks away.
“I wish I could say that was the first time hot chocolate has been more appealing than me, but it’s not,” I say to Vince, who, even though it’s freezing, is still wearing his usual uniform of jeans, a hoodie, and a baseball hat.
He doesn’t pull his face away from the camera to respond. “Same, Brynn. Same.”
Because Love the Player was so successful, they decided to film during the entire season. They aren’t allowed inside of the stadium, that’s the only hard line the Mustangs drew. All of the footage they use on the show from the games comes from the flip cameras they gave all the cast members—so filming right outside of the doors while the women were all dolled up in their gear and talking with fans is—I assume—the production equivalent of an orgasm.