Chapter 42
42
LEO
B efore the game, Briar disappears into her room, leaving me to stew in my thoughts alone.
I’m still not sure what she wants, because she won’t explicitly state it. Sure, she had asked about her wanting me that night a week ago. But that was the last I had heard, and since then, she hasn’t once let on that she may want this to be more.
I’ve fucked up enough in my life that I don’t want to test my luck. Pressing her too hard just seems like a great way to drive her away, but the constant push and pull, the constant tip-toeing around our actual feelings has been draining.
The quiet pitter patter of her footsteps coming down the fall alert me to her arrival, and I watch as she rounds the corner in an oversized jersey, her long legs bare, the hem of her fabric shorts peeking out just enough to calm my raging boner.
It takes me a second to realize which jersey she’s wearing, the giant eight on her chest somehow originally looked over.
“Where’s your brother’s jersey?” I ask, shocked.
She shrugs her slender shoulder, one of her braids falling over it. “Just grabbed this out of my closet. ”
There’s a glint in her eye that I recognize, though. The choice was intentional.
I look at the clock, realizing that we have just enough time for me to give her exactly what she wants.
She walks by me to the kitchen, grabbing some popcorn from the cabinet. I get up, heading over to grab some water. Taking a long sip, I set my cup next to her before caging her in against the counter.
Her back stiffens as my lips flutter over her neck.
“The game’s starting soon,” she mutters, trying to turn.
“So you’re going to sit here and lie to me by saying that walking this perfect ass in front of me while wearing my jersey wasn’t intentional?” I growl into her ear, nipping at it.
She presses her ass into me, rocking her hips into me.
“I wouldn’t say that, no,” she says quietly.
I back away, shrugging. “Alright,” I say with a shrug, grabbing my cup and heading back to the couch.
I listen for her movement, and don’t hear anything for what feels like a couple of minutes. Finally, I hear the popcorn pour into a bowl, and Briar makes her way back to the couch.
She sits.
She sets the bowl in her lap.
Ten.
Nine.
She takes a bite, flexing her legs out in front of her, fidgeting with her hair.
Eight.
Six—
Wait, fuck, Seven…
She sighs loudly.
Six.
Five.
She sets the bowl down on the coffee table and crosses her arms over her chest.
Four .
Three.
“You know—” she starts, but I don’t let her get very far.
Grabbing her, I sit her on my lap, her knees straddling me as she gasps.
Fisting her hair, my mouth is on hers in an instant, her tongue intertwined with mine as she moans into the kiss. I’m not even sure she knows she does it so often—the moaning. Her little gasps of pleasure make my cock twitch every time.
Grabbing her neck, I angle her so I can deepen the kiss, thoroughly enjoying the way she’s already coming undone at my touch.
“I think every player fantasizes about their girl wearing their jersey with nothing on underneath,” I say breathlessly between kisses.
My lips move down to her neck as she fists my shirt, grinding her hips into me.
“Am I your girl now?” she asks through whimpers.
“You’ll always be my girl, Briar,” I say before I can stop myself.
She pulls away just slightly, her brown eyes staring into mine before her fist tugs at my hair, bringing my mouth back to hers.
My left hand cups her chin as I kiss her, not ever being close enough for my liking, as my other snakes under my jersey, her hot, soft skin greeting me as my fingers feather up her side, taking her breast in my palm.
Briar sucks in a breath, her head lolling back as she moans.
“Fuck your body is so fucking perfect,” I tell her, watching as she writhes on top of me with each pluck of her nipple.
My dick pulses beneath her, desperate to be inside of her soaking wet cunt.
Grabbing the hem of the jersey, I hoist it up and over her head, tossing it across the room with the hopes that Champ, fast asleep in her room like usual, doesn’t think I threw a toy and come out and disturb us .
“Are you going to lie to me again?” I ask her, confirming that she’s not wearing a bra.
“I go braless a lot,” she lies through her teeth with a smile.
I shake my head. “You don’t, but keep telling yourself that.”
Before she gets the chance to argue further, my mouth is on her breast, my tongue flicking over her nipple before my teeth clamp down on it, sending her body into overdrive.
“Leo, please,” she pants. I’d torment her a little bit like usual, but I’m also going insane.
Getting up, I peel her shorts off her before laying her down on the couch and spreading her legs, her perfect pussy on full display for me as her ankle hooks over the back.
Keeping her legs spread, I lower my mouth to it, my lips wrapping around her clit and sucking. She moans, her back arching off the couch as her fingers dig into my hair, holding it tight.
She tastes like sex and vanilla, her signature almond scent creating the most sexy, luxurious smell I’ve ever come across.
While my right hand fists her breast, my fingers working her peaked nipple, I use my left hand to insert two fingers inside of her, her walls clamping down around them as she squirms.
As my tongue captures her clit, my fingers rock in and out of her, her moans growing louder and louder as my fingers get slicker.
It’s when she moans my name, the sound of it like honey as she clamps down around me, her body shaking, that I let up just a touch.
“There’s a condom in the pocket of my shorts,” she mutters through a moan.
“Didn’t plan this my ass,” I mutter with a smirk as I grab her shorts, fishing the condom from it.
Ripping the package open and freeing my cock from my pants, I put it on, sitting back down on the couch and dragging her on top of me. Grabbing the hem of my shirt, she tugs it over my head as she rubs her pussy along my shaft, teasing me.
“Don’t go teasing me now, Crosby,” I moan, my head hitting the back of the couch.
“I would never,” she mutters, her mouth finding mine.
Positioning herself right over me, she suddenly drops, hissing as I fill her. I bite my lip to quiet myself as I grab her ass in both of my hands, helping her ride me as my mouth captures her breasts as they bounce in front of my face.
“God you feel so good,” she moans into my neck as her pace slows.
I can tell she’s getting tired, so I grab her hips and help her off of me before pushing her back.
Rounding the couch, I grab her ankle, turning her with me before lifting her ass onto the surface so she’s at the right angle.
“What—”
She doesn’t finish what she’s about to ask before I’m back inside of her, my head tipping back as her moans become louder. My hands firmly hold her legs in place, and although this position feels fucking amazing for both of us, I wish I could stimulate her another way.
“Are you going to come, Briar?” I ask breathlessly.
She pants, her eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know,” she says honestly.
“Touch yourself,” I demand, and she does it without question. Her fingers find her clit, rubbing it in circular motions while her other hand grabs her breast, squeezing it roughly as I slip in and out of her.
Minutes later, as I feel her clamp around me, pressure forms at the base of my spine, her cries growing louder as I fuck her harder. My balls ache as I lose control, pleasure coursing through me .
When we both finally come down, we head to her shower, quickly washing off together before the game starts.
We get back right at kickoff.
We lose the game, and although the moment sucks, and I hate to see my guys so worn down and lifeless, I know that with the woman next to me by my side, we’re going to get through it all.
“I fucking hate this,” Briar says as she white knuckles the arm rests.
“Takeoff won’t take that long,” I assure her, looking around.
We’re finally taking that trip we had planned to go on back during bye week, before I got injured. I left the planning up to Owen and Emmett, who chose Turks and Caicos.
Although I’m constantly on planes for work, Briar has hardly ever taken one. Elara is a row behind us with her uncle, happily munching away on crackers the flight attendants gave her the second she sat down and asked where the snacks were.
Emmett and his daughter is across the aisle, with Heidi sitting behind them.
Since there was going to be a couple of kids on the trip, Briar had asked if Heidi could come too. She’s started to really bond with her, and she loves how she is with Elara. Plus, it’s someone else for her and Isla to talk to.
“The flight is only a couple of hours, too,” I assure her. More like eight hours, but she’ll hopefully be asleep for most of it.
“Distract me,” she asks, her eyes closed as her head rests back against the seat .
“Well, okay,” I say, looking around again. “What are some things you just… hate?”
“Diet soda,” she says without missing a beat.
My brows furrow. “You said that like you have personal beef with it.”
Her fingers clutch the seat even tighter as the plane begins to move.
“I do,” she says simply.
“Any reason?”
“It’s absolutely disgusting, Leo. Haven’t you ever tried it? It tastes like chemicals, death, and despair.”
I feel like that’s a bit of a stretch, but who am I to argue?
“Okay, well I hate the smell of a fridge?”
One of her eyes opens as she glances at me. “Like any fridge?”
“Yep.”
Her lips dip in a frown as her eyebrows shoot up.
“Your turn,” I say.
“Grape,” she says, once again without a second thought.
“Just… grape?”
“Anything grape. Grape candy, grape soda, anything.”
“Even actual grapes?”
She thinks for a moment. “No, real grapes are fine.”
“Hmm,” I think. “I hate the thought of being eaten by an alligator.”
Briar turns to look at me then, a concerned look on her face. “How many times do you think about being eaten by an alligator?”
My eyes widen. “A lot, Briar. Don’t you?”
“No,” she pauses, “but when I was little I used to have dreams about a polar bear chasing me up the stairs of my house.”
“A polar bear?”
She nods vigorously before the plane jolts, and her eyes clamping shut once again. “I didn’t think this through,” she mutters.
“I hate soggy chicken tenders,” I say next.
“I think everyone hates those.”
I shrug.
“Well, I hate texting,” she huffs.
“Is that why you never text me?”
“I text you enough, but I’d rather talk on the phone than text. Besides, we’re both home constantly anyways. We hardly have a reason to text.
True.
“I hate pickle juice.”
“That’s a reasonable one. I hate those little thumb holes that some long sleeve shirts come with now.”
“I don’t really know what you’re talking about but I’ll go with it.”
She nods.
We go on naming things we hate for the next thirty minutes. Long enough for the plane to take off, Elara to settle down behind us, and for Briar to start falling asleep with the help of some sleep medicine, of course.
And a couple of hours later, we finally land.