Chapter 20 #2
"You look like you're mine." His hand slides higher, cupping my breasts, and I gasp. "You look like I should bend you over and fuck that pussy until you can't remember your own name."
Heat floods through me, my body already responding to his touch. "Is this a hockey thing? The jersey?"
"It's a you-wearing-my-number thing." His thumb brushes over my nipple, and my knees nearly buckle. "Every guy in the league dreams about this. A girl in their jersey. But you're not just any girl, Maya. You're—"
"Yours?"
"Fuck yes, you're mine."
He kisses me hard, possessive, one hand still under the jersey while the other grips my hip. I can feel him hard against me, pressing into my stomach, and I'm already soaking, already desperate for him.
"Bed," I say against his mouth. "Now."
We stumble across the room, hands pulling at his clothes until he's down to his boxers. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap, the jersey riding up around my waist.
"This is staying on," he says, tugging at the hem. "The whole time. You're going to ride me wearing my number, and I'm going to lose my fucking mind."
"Yes," I breathe, already positioning myself over him.
But before I can move, he grips my hips, holding me still. "Wait."
"Jackson—"
"I need you to know something." His eyes are intense, searching mine. "I'd do anything for you, Maya."
My heart stutters. "Anything?"
He simply nods.
A wild impulse overtakes me, something primal and possessive. "Crawl to me then."
His eyes widen. "What?"
"You heard me." I slide off his lap, moving to stand a few feet away. "Get on your hands and knees and crawl to me."
For a moment, he just stares at me, and I think maybe I've pushed too far, but then he's sliding off the bed and dropping to the floor.
My breath catches as he starts moving toward me, muscles flexing under his skin, his eyes never leaving mine. There's something raw in his expression, vulnerable and desperate and so full of want that I can barely stand it.
When he reaches me, he sits back on his heels, looking up at me with those incredible green eyes.
"Anything," he says again, his voice rough.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging, and he leans into my touch. "You mean that?”
"Every word." His hands find my thighs, sliding up under the jersey. "I'm yours, Maya. Completely."
The power of it makes my head spin. I pull him to his feet, kissing him hard, and we're moving again, tumbling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.
He strips off his boxers while I watch, and then he's pulling me back onto his lap, positioning me over him.
"Look at me," he says as I begin to sink onto his cock. "I want to watch you take my fucking cock while you’re wearing my jersey."
I meet his eyes as I lower myself more, the stretch perfect, familiar, but somehow different tonight. The jersey shifts with the movement, the fabric brushing against my oversensitive skin, and I can see in his face how much this affects him.
"Fuck," he groans when I'm fully seated. "You feel incredible. You look incredible. Twenty-five looks so fucking good on you."
I start to move, hands braced on his shoulders, and his hands guide my hips, helping me find the rhythm. Every movement sends pleasure spiraling through me, building and building.
"That's it," he says, voice strained. "Ride me. Show me who you belong to."
"You," I gasp. "I belong to you."
"Damn right you do." His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit, and I cry out. "And I belong to you. Have for years."
The admission, combined with his touch, pushes me closer to the edge. I'm already close, the combination of his cock inside me and his fingers and the overwhelming feeling of wearing his jersey, is threatening to undo me.
"Jackson—"
"I know, I can feel your pussy gripping me." His other hand slides to my hip, helping me move faster. "Come for me, Stardust. Come on my cock wearing my number."
The orgasm hits hard, waves of pleasure crashing over me as I clench around him. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound, my whole body shaking.
"Fuck, Maya." He thrusts up hard, chasing his own release. "You're so perfect. So mine. All fucking mine."
He comes with my name on his lips, filling me as I'm still shaking from my own orgasm, and the feeling of him pulsing inside me sends another smaller wave of pleasure through my body.
We stay like this for a long moment, him still inside me, the jersey sticking to my sweaty skin, both of us breathing hard.
"That was—" I can't find the words.
"Yeah."
I climb off him carefully, and we clean up with tissues from his nightstand. When I reach for the jersey to take it off, he stops me.
"Keep it on. Sleep in it, and sleep with me."
"Jackson—"
"I know we're supposed to go back to separate rooms. But fuck that. Stay. Please."
I don't even hesitate. I climb into his bed and let him pull me against his chest, the jersey soft between us.
"You really have a thing for the jersey," I say.
"I have a thing for you in my jersey. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. Because any jersey would just be hot. But my jersey, with my number, with the C—" His hand slides possessively over my hip. "That's you telling the world you're mine. Even if the world can't know yet."
"I am yours."
"And I'm yours. Have been all these years. Will be for the rest of my life."
The words settle over us, warm and terrifying all at once.
He presses his forehead to the back of my shoulder, breathing me in like he’s memorizing this moment.
“Don’t run from that,” he murmurs.
“I’m not,” I whisper back.
And for once, it’s true.