CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Whitney
T he kiss is like fire.
It heats every part of my body that his hands don’t touch. It’s like I can’t get enough and I’m getting too much all at once. The need to savor him is overrun by the urge to have. To taste. To finally know what Hardy feels like.
He’s desire in a way I’ve never experienced. He’s inhibition in a way that I want to.
Both tempt and taunt me. Both come with a point of no return that I’m well beyond.
His hands map my curves, and my skin heats beneath them while his mouth laces kisses everywhere—the column of my throat, my lips, my fingertips, beneath my ear. I press against him, drinking him in and getting drunk on his kiss.
“You’re here. Should I assume you’ve made up your mind?” he asks between kisses.
“You really have to ask?” I laugh.
“Yes. I do,” he murmurs against my lips.
But those three words, those three syllables, are why I’m here. His respect for me, for my needs, and for my wants are more powerful than any desire has ever been—and the desire is more than fierce.
“Yes, Hardy. The answer is yes.”
“Thank fucking God,” he grits out as his hands find their way beneath my waistband and straight to the apex of my thighs. His groan is guttural and desperate.
My moan is greedy and packed with need as I let him part me and dip his fingers into me. My breath hitches as he pushes his way into me, and I tense around him.
I grab his cock. It’s hard, and if I weren’t already wet, his cock heavy and thick in my hand would do it.
“Ever had sex on the pitch?” he asks. “Because I don’t think we’re going to make it much farther if you keep your hand wrapped around my cock like that.”
I’m so consumed by him that I forget where we are and what we’re doing. None of it matters. Only he does. Only now does.
“Pitch is fine.” It won’t be the first time I have grass beneath my back and I have no shame in the thought. “Condom is in my purse,” I pant out.
“Thank fuck for that,” he groans as I rub my thumb over his tip and smear the drop of pre-cum around with one hand and dig into the side of my purse with the other until I feel the square package.
Our lips meet again. One kiss after another that only fuels the need, entices the greed, and creates an urgency that I didn’t expect.
I love the feel of his sweat-slicked chest beneath my palm. It’s a roadmap of dents and ridges as I slide my free hand down his pecs and over his abs to grab his cock with both hands.
He shoves down his shorts to give me better access, but he trips as he tries to step out of his shorts, forgetting that his shoes are on and lands solidly against me.
Not that I mind, but we both burst out laughing.
“You have entirely too many clothes on,” he says as he pulls my shirt over my head, and I release his cock to shove my shorts down. I take a step back and undo my bra, letting it fall to the ground. It may be dark in the stadium, but I can see the desire fire in his eyes when he sees me standing there completely naked.
I made the right decision coming here.
Hands down. No doubt.
If there’s one thing that look telegraphs to me, it’s that.
“I thought I’d made up in my mind how gorgeous you were,” he murmurs as he reaches out and cups the side of my cheek. “I didn’t.” He leans down and pulls one of my nipples into his mouth while his hand cups my other breast.
I gasp at the sensation—the warmth, the wetness, the pressure. My body gets goosebumps as I arch my back and press my chest into him.
“Hardy. Please,” I beg. “We’ve danced around this long enough.”
“Tell me what you want,” he says as he gives my other nipple the same treatment.
“You. This. Now. Please ,” I groan as the ache spreads like a wildfire through me. It has no beginning and no end and I don’t know that I ever want it to.
With zero finesse and with a blend of laughter and moans between kisses, we lower ourselves to the pitch.
“Tell me what you need to get off,” he says as he sits on his ass and lays back. I watch him undo the foil packet and jacket up. “Tell me what you like. Where I’ll be the deepest and hit where you need to get hit.”
I stare at his fingers working over his cock, and all I can think about is sinking down onto it. So rather than tell him, I show him. I run my fingernails up his chest, welcoming his hiss in reaction and moan when I wrap my hand around the base of his shaft.
“Lie back,” I tell him.
He lifts his eyebrows. “A woman who takes control. I like it.”
“A woman who wants to watch you come. And one who wants to take advantage of every single inch you give me.”
“Babe, I’m all yours.”
He lies back as I straddle his thighs but holds his cock in one hand to position it for me. There’s something about him like this, watching me, anticipating what I’ll feel like when I’m wrapped around him, when he’s filling me, that empowers me.
I line up his cock and sink down about an inch onto it. My body shudders at the sensation and my own anticipation.
“That’s fucking right. Christ,” he groans as he holds tight to his restraint. His free hand reaches out to dig his fingers into my hip and hold on like it’s his lifeline tethering his control from snapping.
I lower myself, inch by torturous inch, watching him the whole time.
His teeth bite into his bottom lip. The tendons in his neck grow taut. Both hands are on my hips now, and they tighten as they guide. His chest hitches and breathing grows shallow.
“Yes. Like that. Take that cock. Just. Like. That.”
I stop when he bottoms out in me. When the stretch turns to a burn and I feel fuller than I’ve ever felt before. My nerves hum from the crest of his cock hitting that rough patch of nerves inside.
“God. You feel amazing,” I murmur, lost in the moment and the sensations.
He reaches out, cups the back of my neck, and meets my mouth halfway as he kisses me again. This time though, the hunger is more intoxicating on his tongue, the desire more violent.
The action seats him even farther inside of me, but the kiss swallows my cry out in pleasure.
I’ve never been this turned on with so little foreplay before. I’ve always needed multiple points of stimulation—fingers or a toy working my clit while a cock works my G-spot—but not this time. Not with Hardy.
It’s like the weeks of sparring and staring and innuendos have been one long, extended bout of foreplay, and so I don’t need more now.
I just need him. The feel of his hips between my thighs. The roughness of his hands on my hips. The hardness of his cock inside of me. The all-consuming look in his eyes as if he’s daring me and begging me to finish this.
And I’m definitely willing to own that.
I begin to rock over him. At first, he keeps our kiss going but soon, it becomes too much to kiss and fuck at the same time. The pleasure is too intense. The bliss burns too bright.
I move over him. Up. Down. Grind of my hips. Then I start it all over again.
I slow down the pace. I pick it back up. I move and adjust to get him to be right where I need him—all the while his eyes are on me, and his hands coax me.
My body begins to sing with the pressure and the pleasure until the coil in my lower belly winds so tight I beg for it to snap. For it to singe and sear and ignite the million tiny nerves inside of me.
“Right there,” he says. “Keep going.” He groans and rolls his hips up to meet mine. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to watch you. Just like that.”
I begin to rock harder, needing more friction, needing it faster, needing it harder.
“Please,” I cry out. “Yes. There. Right there.”
Hardy tightens his grip and takes charge, pistoning his hips into me—over and over, harder and harder, faster and faster.
Lightning strikes.
“ Eyes on me. ”
The orgasm slams into me with a violence I don’t expect and a potency I can’t comprehend.
“ Keep them right on me .”
All thoughts leave and only sensations reign.
It’s Hardy. It’s me. It’s the white-hot heat that’s searing its way up my spine and then reverberating back to my core to be knocked back out again.
“Let me watch you come apart. Let me see what I do to you.”
I’m so drugged with its power that it takes me a moment to realize the storm darkening in Hardy’s eyes.
“ Fuck .” He grits the word out seconds before his body tenses, he rolls his head back, and his hips jerk beneath me.
I watch him.
I admire the beauty of him.
And when he reaches up to cup my neck and bring my lips back to his again, I know I’ve just lost a part of myself to him that I never expected to lose.