23. Violet
Chapter 23
Violet
“ S o you work in the social media department?” Allison asks from across our table.
Dinner has come and gone, a delicious and decadent meal that has left me full and floaty on the flavors. Our group is all around one table, Crosby to my left and Charlie on my right, the easiest decision to keep Gus and Obie from fighting over me. Again. We’re winding the night down over large slices of pie, spiced cider, and holiday mead. Everyone has a high flush in their cheeks or slightly glassy eyes as the conversation continues about life and the schedule post-holiday.
“That’s right. I started at the beginning of the season. It’s been an interesting side of the game to learn. I’m surprised how much I enjoy it,” I answer. I don’t know many of the players’ supporting partners, and talking to Allison tonight has been really nice. She co-owns an apparel company that works to create sports merchandise designed by women for women, a corner of the market that has shown room for growth over the last decade. With her experience as a player’s wife all these years, I was blown away by the mockups she showed me on her phone. Everything looks comfortable, on-trend, and clearly for sports fans but with a subtlety the league tends to miss when trying to market to female fans.
“I bet they’re lucky to have you!”
“I’m not sure about that. I can run the numbers on the data the platforms bring in, but I’m not sure I’m the most creative member on staff.” I laugh. Crosby is smiling at me, his hand snaking under the table to squeeze my thigh. “You can ask any of these guys, I’ve had them doing some ridiculous things in the name of my job.”
“I kind of like the singing bits,” Gus says. “I didn’t think I had a good voice.”
“You don’t,” Charlie and Obie quip at the same time.
“Fuck the both of you. The comments say otherwise.” Gus looks affronted. Allison laughs and wraps her arm around Henri. He unconsciously leans over to press a kiss to the side of her head. They really are adorable.
“Don’t believe everything you read online,” Crosby wisely says next to me, taking a sip of water.
“If online comments were true, you’d have slept with half of Connecticut this season,” Obie shares, looking at Gus.
“No shit?” Gus shrugs. “Guess Wellsy’s right: the internet is full of lies.”
Conversation breaks up among the group again, but I’m losing the threads as Crosby’s hand traces little patterns, causing sparks of arousal to pulse in my blood.
It took him the majority of the appetizer to come back from the pull of his revelations to me. Even as he gave nods and smiles to everyone who spoke to him, traces of sadness and dark memories played in the corners of his eyes. It was a devastating piece of himself to share with me, but the trust he gave with it was a precious thing.
His history hasn’t been a major part of his player narrative in the media. I can see why he’s worked to keep it quiet, and I have a feeling that my dad has also done his behind-the-scenes magic to blacklist as many questions about those painful events as possible. It’s something Cal Andrews does: he protects those he cares about. I settle against Crosby’s arm realizing that even before we were together, my dad cared enough about Crosby to try and shield him.
I look across the room to where he’s sitting with Ava, Todd, Ethan, and some other members of his coaching staff. He’s sitting quietly as Ava leans across to say something to him. He gives a small nod and looks up at me. Dad smiles at me, and I think maybe, despite how I tried to fight it, he helped me figure out exactly where I belong.
“You okay?” Crosby kisses my forehead, keeping the question between us.
“Yes. Perfect,” I reply. I look up at his beautiful eyes. The shadows of earlier have cleared, and there is an almost palpable amount of joy in his gaze now. I suck in a sharp breath. I’m trying valiantly to believe the love I see is for the collective group of people around him. I’m trying to convince myself that no matter how badly I want it to be only for me, there’s no way we’re there yet.
“You, um, you didn’t eat your dessert.” I break my eyes away from his, flicking my gaze to the plate with a full slice of pumpkin pie in front of him. Crosby manages a quick glance before a slow, heated smile spreads across his lips, and his hand flattens on my leg.
“It’s not the dessert I want.” He leans in, feeding the words into the gap between my parted lips. The sparks of arousal are threatening to morph into an inferno. If we were anywhere else, I’d let the intensity of the heat consume me.
“Oh?” I breathe back. Crosby shakes his head, somehow moving even closer. His lips brush mine, his body turned so much in his seat, I feel surrounded by him. When he wraps himself around me like this, I feel every piece of myself being consumed by him.
“This is a hotel. I’m sure they have rooms.” Charlie’s deep voice travels in from my other side. It’s the exact dose of metaphorical cold water I need. As the bubble of Crosby-induced haze clears, I see the entire table watching us. Gus leans forward on his elbow, tucking his chin into his hand with an exaggerated, dreamy look. Obie just shakes his head with a teasing smile on his face. Allison and Henri are whispering and smiling, a fondness in their matching expressions. I take in Charlie’s face, the usual stony pout replaced with a lighter, kinder smile. An embarrassed little giggle spills from my lips.
Crosby smacks a kiss to my cheek to break the moment, good-natured laughs circle the table. The hand on my lap disappears, but I don’t have time to miss the absence of its reassuring warmth. It returns with a cold, distinctly rectangular shape pressed between palm and leg. A key card. I look up at Crosby’s mischievous face.
“They do have rooms. Want to get out of here?”
“This fucking dress,” Crosby growls the words against my neck from behind me as soon as the heavy hotel room door closes. His arms circle me, hands roaming the material of the garment he finds so abhorrent. His fingers inch the skirt higher up my thighs as he walks us to the plush king-size bed.
As we reach the white comforter, skin meets skin when Crosby finally pulls high enough. His touch sears into me even when he keeps it light and teasing. I lean back into his chest, reaching up to hold him behind the neck, directing his mouth back to the exposed skin under my ear and at my shoulder. I sigh happily when he complies, kissing the sensitive area with languid, heated pulls of his lips against my pulse.
His hands traverse along the tops of my thighs, fingertips dancing against my flesh before ghosting back down. With each pass, he inches higher until he brushes at the satin covering my core, drawing a gasp from me. Crosby’s answering chuckle makes my fingers tighten their hold on the ends of his hair, pulling him off my neck and back to my lips.
I kiss him hard, a passionate dance of tongues and teeth that he matches stroke for stroke. I love how responsive he is when I press my ass back against his hard length. It earns me a little nip on my bottom lip as he breaks away. I suck it back between my teeth, and he turns me around, reaching for the hem of my dress and dragging it up and off me.
“Look how beautiful you are.” Crosby’s voice is dark, thick with arousal, matching the predatory gleam in his eyes as he takes in the sight of me. I’m clad only in my matching red satin underwear and black stilettos, but I may as well be naked for the appreciative look crossing Crosby’s face.
I don’t feel a trace of embarrassment when Crosby delicately directs me to turn around for his inspection. My body feels alive and beautiful as his fingertips connect briefly along my hips before brushing along my shoulders. The hum of satisfaction he gives as I finish my turn emboldens me to reach for the lapels of his blazer. He only lets me pull him a step closer—a firm, bruising kiss delivered to my hot lips before he pulls back again.
“I want my dessert, baby.” His hands reach around my back, unhooking the clasp of my bra. With decisive action, he pulls it off, letting it drop to the floor. “Can I have it, Violet? I’m a hungry man.”
Crosby’s thumbs trace along the elastic of my panties. I take in the look he gives me: pupils blown so wide they almost blot out the beautiful two-toned color of his eyes and flushed cheeks under evening stubble. I lick my lips at the possibility of what it will feel like against the tender flesh of my inner thighs.
I hook my own thumbs into the waist of my underwear and pull it down my legs before he can. Crouched after stepping free of them, I sit back on the mattress, scooting until I’m properly supported. Boldly, I widen my legs, setting the pins of my heels on the comforter to balance, leaning back on my elbows in invitation.
“I’d never want to keep you from a meal.”
He takes a moment to remove his blazer before climbing between my parted legs still fully clothed. Holy shit, that’s hot. The need in his face is almost enough to undo me as his eyes reverently glide up my thighs to my pussy. I’m wet and aching for more attention than from just his eyes. One hand follows the same path, skimming along my skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, before he hooks it underneath my thigh, his strong grip ensuring I can’t close my legs to keep him from his goal.
The press of his lips against my inner thigh sends a jolt through my body. His stubble rasps against my skin in a way that is not wholly unwelcome. It leaves a slight sting as he moves toward my center. I fist the comforter in my hands as he climbs closer and closer to where I want him most.
I throw my head back at the first swipe of Crosby’s tongue, my back bowing off the mattress. He responds with several other passes up and down my slit as he situates my legs over his shoulders, his hands both wrapping from underneath to spread me wider.
With me fully exposed, I begin to fade from consciousness, succumbing to the heated ministrations as he works toward my clit. He gently laps the exposed bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue. When he seals his mouth over it and sucks, I can’t help the cry that escapes me.
“Crosby!”
I look down to see his gaze locked on mine, one hand abandoning its post to spread out across my middle to hold me down. It is only then I realize I’m thrusting against his face. I bring my own hands to my breasts, squeezing their fullness and toying with my peaked nipples. Crosby groans at the sight, the sound vibrating through me and pulling a mirrored sound from my own mouth.
“That’s it, baby, touch yourself.” Crosby kisses my inner thigh gently, a finger from his other hand coming up to touch my wet heat. I gasp at the sensation. A wicked smirk appears on his face as he does it again, angling to tease my opening before moving up and circling my highly sensitive clit. “So wet. So responsive.” Crosby drops, sucking at my clit for a moment before looking back up at me. “Give me everything, Violet. I’ll spend all night here until I get my fill.”
At that, his mouth returns, alternating a steady pattern of flicks with the tip of his tongue and broad strokes with the flat. Coupled with the rhythm he sets with his finger, thrusting almost lazily just inside my entrance, I feel myself barreling toward the edge of a devastatingly powerful orgasm. Especially when he slides a second finger in. Then, a third.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my fingers flying to tangle in his curls. They’re soft and strong under my grasp. I twist a little when Crosby’s fingers slide deeper, hooking slightly to stroke at that soft, sensitive tissue just right. “Oh my God… Crosby, I’m coming!”
My vision goes white, and I can’t hear anything for a moment. There’s just the blissful suspension of release. It should be a vulnerable state, but even through the haze, I feel the softness of Crosby’s lips as he kisses my legs tenderly and the soothing strokes of his hands against my skin. Blindly, I reach out to be met immediately by his own fingers twining with mine.
Crosby guides me through the aftershocks with gentle care and affection. I feel him slip my shoes off as he slides my legs off his shoulders. I open my eyes to him gazing at me with a warmth I’ve never seen before. My heart flutters in my chest as I let myself bathe in a momentary thought that I’m seeing a reflection of my own feelings. Feelings I’ve tried in vain to keep from naming, but for a breath, I acknowledge I’m falling irrevocably in love with him.
“You okay?” Crosby crawls up to me, pushing sweaty strands of hair off my face. I give a hum in response, reaching up to thumb at his collar.
“I’m perfect,” I answer, curling toward him, propping myself up enough to undo the buttons of his shirt. His eyes flick down to where my fingers move. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“Hmmm,” he considers. I push his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, appreciating the way his torso flexes and moves, his muscles enhancing the beauty I find in him. “I’ve always been a greedy boy, so I think I’ll be going back for seconds.”
“Not until I get mine.”