Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chloe was laughing so hard, she tripped over her own feet into the apartment and nearly went sprawling face down onto the hardwood floor. Somehow, she managed to balance herself without touching any of the furniture with her dirty hands, turning just in time to watch Sig saunter into the apartment with a sludge-caked bulldog cradled to his chest.

A twinkle lit his eyes, but he didn’t smile.

He probably couldn’t, because there was dried mud hardening on his face, due to the struggle he’d undergone putting Pierre into the bed of his truck. It was a miracle Chloe hadn’t peed her pants on the way home, because though they’d secured Pierre to the truck with his leash and driven five miles per hour down busy Boston streets while horns wailed, Pierre still managed to lose his balance, plop, and roll several times, making Chloe cry out in concern and laugh her head off in equal measure.

“Come on, let’s put him in the bathtub,” she wheezed, staggering down the hallway of the apartment and falling to her knees in front of the tub, turning the tap to warm. “I’m not thinking about the mess this is going to leave behind. That’s a later problem.”

“I’ll help you.” Sig unhooked the removable showerhead and started rinsing mud and sludge from the bulldog right away. “Let’s just get this behemoth clean.”

The word “behemoth” spoken through gritted teeth caused Chloe to shake with mirth. “If you think about it, he saved us from that brawl,” she said over the sound of pelting water. “I think he knew exactly what he was doing. Didn’t you, thoughtful boy?”

Pierre glared at her, one tooth poking up from his bottom lip.

“Hate to break it to you, but this dog doesn’t have a single thought in his head, Chlo.” He hunkered down beside her on the tile floor so he could spray Pierre’s undercoat. “He eats and shits and causes trouble.”

Chloe bumped him in the shoulder with her own. “Is this the kind of daddy you’d be? The kind who complains about having to hose dirt and Cheerios off a toddler?”

“Nah.” He seemed to get distracted by her face, his attention falling to her mouth. “If we made a baby, I’d live for every second.”

Her heart dropped to her knees. “You’ve been talking about making babies a lot lately.”

Was it her imagination or had he leaned closer? Was that his breath on her lips? “I’ve been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ve been talking about it.”

“Sig.”

“You brought it up.”

“Yes, I did. Sorry.”

Chest rumbling, he tore his gaze off her. “How is practice going?”

“Good,” Chloe said, feeling dazed from being blasted by so much intensity only to have it taken away... and struggling with the need to get it back. In an effort to distract herself, she looked down at her fingers, running the pad of her thumb across the blister that had formed yesterday on her middle finger. “I’m working as hard as I can. I’m grateful for the work, even if it’s grueling. The harder the better, actually. When I get into the zone...”

“You don’t have to think.”

“Yes.”

His throat worked. “I know, baby. I’m doing the same.”

Chloe dug her nails into her palms to prevent herself from crawling into his lap, clinging to him, absorbing his heat. “Have they offered you a contract yet?”

“I have a meeting with Reese tomorrow. Could be it.”

Her face lit up. “I hope so.”

“Yeah? I don’t feel a fucking thing anymore.”

Pulses started clamoring in her neck, wrists, and chest. “Sig.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, his knuckles turning white around the shower nozzle. “It’s painful to be this close to you.”

Chloe didn’t know what to say. What to do. On some level, she’d entertained the hope that they could stay friends. Authentic ones this time. But that obviously wouldn’t be the case. Because she couldn’t pretend, either, that she didn’t ache to be held by him, feel his hands skim her flesh, while his mouth fastened to her lips, her breasts. She’d have to completely let him go, wouldn’t she? They’d never had a chance to be anything but...

Apart.

“I’ll go see if I can find you a big T-shirt to wear,” she said, standing on legs made of gelatin. Trying and failing to ignore the way his eyes ran their full length, darkened when they reached the juncture of her thighs, his jaw popping. “Yours is covered in mud.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I’ll find something,” she breathed, nearly tripping over the threshold saddle to escape the tension in the bathroom. Her options were to get away from it or run headfirst into it. Once inside her bedroom, she stripped off her sweatshirt, which was streaked in brown and probably needed delousing, hurriedly searching through her drawers to locate a shirt for herself, as well as Sig. Her heartbeat was booming in her ears, hands clumsy. Of course, they were. She was separated by a wall from the man who ruled her senses.

The riot taking place throughout Chloe’s body and the concerted effort she put toward ignoring it were a distraction. And probably why she only realized absently the water had been turned off in the bathroom. But when the hair raised on her arms and the back of her neck, she knew he was there. Standing in the doorway of her bedroom with his shoulder propped against the jamb, hunger running rampant across his features.

“Sorry, still trying to find you a shirt.”

“It’s probably a good idea if you find one for yourself first.”

Heat clawed at her skin. “Okay. I just...” All the shirts looked the same. Nothing made sense. She couldn’t recall what a single one of them looked like or ever having seen them in her life. There was nothing but the magnetism and frustration radiating from the man in her doorway. “Um. Hold on.”

Sig pushed off the door and went to pace the hallway, arms crossed. And she hated herself for being swamped in disappointment by that. By the fact that he didn’t charge into the bedroom, swipe her off the floor, and throw her down on the bed. Take her like an animal. Her body craved that rough treatment. Craved release. For both of them. God, she wanted his almost as much as she needed her own.

Finally, she found a black tank top for herself, pulling it on over her head.

Down toward the bottom of the folded stack was a Bearcats shirt she’d bought at the first game she attended. Before she’d ordered her custom pink jersey. The only size they’d had left in her favorite design was a men’s XXL, so she’d resolved to sleep in it.

“Here,” she murmured, holding out the shirt to him on her journey into the dark hallway. Yes, dark. The overcast day lent little light to the apartment and they hadn’t bothered turning on any lights, apart from the one in the bathroom.

There was more than enough light, however, to see every muscle of Sig’s body flex, ripple, and snap when he stripped off his ruined shirt and dropped it on the ground, his heavy-lidded eyes fastened on her. When he looked ready to spring for her, he merely held out his hand for the shirt.

She handed it over, shivering when their fingers brushed.

He hesitated to put on the garment, his chest rising and falling in an unsteady pattern.

“I’m trying to respect your decision, Chlo,” he said thickly, his steps seeming to bring them closer involuntarily. Closer. Closer until his breath on her temple. “Quit looking at me like that.”

Another step forward from Sig. A backward one from Chloe.

One by one, her back muscles melted into the wall, head falling back so her eyes could trace the perfection of his jawline, his throat, his sculpted mouth. “Like what?”

That breath—and the tiniest hint of his tongue—made contact with her ear. “Like you remember how hot we fuck. Like you want to do it again.” He planted his left hand above her head on the wall, his right hand dropped to the front of his sweatpants. Gripped that thick ridge while he groaned. “Look what you do to me, Chloe.”

“That’s what you do to me, too,” she whispered, head swimming. “The lady version.”

His lips twitched, but he seemed almost pained by his own amusement. “Oh God, I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too. So much,” she gasped, because he buried a handful of fingers in her hair, tilted her head back, and licked upward along the curve of her throat.

“You want some?” He latched his teeth to her jaw. “Give me a green light.”

Don’t do it. She’d only set herself back. But there was no putting the brakes on a runaway train. No talking sense into herself when she loved this man in ways that defied logic.

“One more time,” she whispered, nodding, her arms sliding up around his neck.

“No one will know but us,” he gritted out, backing her more firmly against the wall and smothering her face in kisses. He planted his lips frantically, but lovingly, on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her chin, her hair, her ears, before finding her mouth and growling into a kiss that communicated everything inside of them both. Everything they both knew to be true, so true they’d feel it for the rest of their lives. “Goddamn it. Goddamn it. ”

“Don’t think,” she whispered, dropping her right hand from around his neck and stroking his erection through the soft material of his sweatpants. “Just enjoy me.”

He moaned brokenly, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. “I do. I enjoy you more than anything else in this life.”

“Sig, you’re going to break me saying things like that.”

She felt his teeth baring against the spot below her ear. “I hear you, Chlo. I’ll keep it about fucking. That’s how we’re going to survive this, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” He tilted his hips, rolling them into her touch. “Touch me.”

“I’d rather taste you, honey.”

A shudder passed through his big frame. “You don’t have to suck my cock, Chloe. But if you do, I’ll reward you so well for it.”

Her legs simply evaporated beneath her, knees landing on the floor, her eager hands tugging down his waistband. She’d wanted to give him a blow job in the hotel room last week, but every time she’d attempted one, he’d shaken his head, flipped her over, and gone down on her instead. A week without him had left her starving and if this was going to be the last time, the real last time they were together, then she planned to feast. Her grip circled him, tongue giving a long lap of that shiny dome, playing in the salty slit. And then she put as much of him in her mouth as she could stand, feeling herself choke, her eyes watering from the pressure but not caring. Only wanting more of his flavor, the satisfaction of his groans.

“Dream girl has a dream mouth, doesn’t she? Christ. ” He gripped the base of his shaft in his right hand, threading the fingers of his left into her head, urging her forward. Rocking into the warmth she eagerly offered. “Moan on it. Let me know how bad you want me in your wet fucking mouth. Good girl. Good. That’s real deep. That’s how I need it.”

His obvious pleasure, which seemed to heighten by the second, worked like a drug in her bloodstream. She couldn’t feel the hard floor beneath her knees or the stretch of her lips. Couldn’t feel the moisture leaking from her eyes or coating her chin, she just knew she wanted to keep going and going, find out how high she could drive him. The way he’d done for her. The way he would do for her as soon as he got the chance.

“I’m getting too stiff now. That’s enough. I need to last.” He urged her head toward him faster, as if he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop. “I want to come inside you.”

Chloe made eye contact while raking her hands up his bare chest, nails scraping gently downward over his nipples, the fullness of him jerking in her mouth, salt trickling down her throat. “Mmmm.”

“Enough. It’s too good. Enough. ” Panting, he tugged himself free of her mouth with a gritted curse, then scooped Chloe onto her feet, walking her backward toward the bedroom, his mouth sealed and sliding on top of hers, their hands colliding in an effort to pull down her yoga pants, a feat she finished off by wiggling and using her toes as hooks to pull them the remaining distance to the floor, kicking away, leaving her in a bra and panties. So much of his warm skin touching hers, her mouth fell open on a shaky breath, hands reaching, stroking.

Just before they reached the doorway, he cupped his hand on the back of her head—and when she realized he was protecting her skull from bumping the frame, her heart flipped upside down. Her entire world went with it. Along with any remaining filter she possessed.

“I love you, too. I love you, too,” she said, fingers in his hair, bringing his forehead down to meet hers, his breath catching against her mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that, maybe it’s terrible timing, but I can’t live without saying it.”

He seemed incapable of speaking, but while searching her face, right to left, up and down, he let the words out in a gruff rush. “I know you love me, Chloe,” he said. “You’ve made sure I feel it every single day.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “Did I do that for you?”

“Yes.”

Tangible relief made him shudder and then his lips were back on hers, his tongue stroking the interior of her mouth, deeply, adoringly, fingers tangling in her hair. And the effect of him was so potent, she stumbled slightly, her hip connecting with her dresser. With a groove of concern forming between his brows, Sig broke the kiss and rubbed the spot where she’d hit the furniture. Seeing his big hand massaging her hip, the length of him hanging free of his sweatpants, she couldn’t wait. Neither could he, said his glazed eyes, his flushed face.

They moved at the same time, boosting her up onto the dresser.

“This is good. This is... good. I’m afraid to get into your bed,” he said in between shallow breaths, his throat bobbing. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to leave it.”

“I wish you didn’t have to,” she whispered.

He slammed his fist down on top of the dresser, as if that statement had wounded him. “Get these fucking panties off,” he growled, lifting her with the crook of his arm, divesting her of the underwear in one long yank. Gone. “I got your reward right here.”

Sig fell to his knees like a thankful man in prayer, parting her flesh with an undulating tongue. Watching her. Prodding her clit a little, teasing, then bathing it with the flattened surface, raking it side to side, side to side, stealing her ability to think or breathe.

Upon her first shudder, he hooked his grip beneath her knees, squeaking her backside closer to the edge, then found her butt with both hands, clutching, pulling, grinding her sex against his face, pressing his tongue deep, deep, deep into her entrance until she screamed, her body quaking reflexively, throat already sore from whimpering, straining.

“Sig. Oh. Oh my God. Sig, that’s good. That’s so good. ”

The orgasm was like sinking into a hot bath, all the way to the crown of her head. Her body sort of just melted, the human form of candle wax, while her core clenched and tightened around his still-thrusting tongue, those hands still on her cheeks, urging her as close as possible to his mouth, his mouth, his perfect, beloved mouth.

She was still gasping from the intensity of the release when Sig stood, drawing her body up against his roughly, his brown gaze wild as he looked down at her from above, holding that blistering, soul-crushing eye contact while entering her. Hard. One thick, hot pump and he was seated, swallowing her scream with an open mouth and starting to thrust. Holding nothing back, neither one of them caring as the dresser drawers rattled, perfume bottles toppled over, the back of the furniture slammed into the wall.

“You’re going to feel me in ways you won’t forget, Chloe,” he rasped.

“Yes. Yes. I am.”

He bore down on her, his hips moving like the pistons of an engine, his smooth inches finding their home inside of her again, again, again, her knees jostling on either side of his waist, more screams building in her throat. “I won’t spend a minute the rest of my life without you in my head and I don’t want it any other way. I don’t care if it hurts, you’re going to stay there,” he said hoarsely, kissing her in a way that was somehow rough and sweet at the same time. “Always my dream girl. Always mine.”

“Always, Sig.”

He dragged her upright and off the dresser, bouncing her on his stiffness once, twice, before shouting her name like an epithet, his fingers bruising as they pressed, pressed, grinded her onto his spurting sex, both of them crying out when he lunged forward, giving her a final series of gloriously violent drives against the dresser, which she encouraged with whimpers of his name, rakes of her nails down the powerful breadth of his back.

Then, like two beings that had lost animation, they dropped to the floor, Sig cradling Chloe in his lap, his mouth dropping furious kisses on her hairline, even while he struggled to catch his breath.

“Chloe, please—”

She never found out what Sig was going to say, because both of their phones rang at once.