13. King of the Bump and Run
13
Roxy
“I’m king of the bump and run.”
“The what, now?”
The cookies are out of the oven, and we’re waiting for them to cool so we can frost them and use icing to draw the cleavage and nipples. Any nerves I had about being alone with Miles––now that I’m actually considering getting naked with him again, thanks to the girls––have long since dissipated. We’ve been having a lot of fun, and when he realized I know next to nothing about football, he acted shocked and appalled and set about teaching me the finer points of defensive maneuvers on the field.
“The bump and run,” he repeats. “Here, let me show you.”
“I think I already showed you that play,” pops out of my mouth, and I slap my hand over my lips and widen my eyes.
I didn’t mean to bring up our one-night stand––when we bumped, and I ran–– risking making things awkward again, but Miles only laughs and pulls me into the center of the kitchen. He squares my shoulders, then takes a few steps back.
“Okay,” he says. “You’re the wide receiver.”
“Nothing about my receptacle is wide,” I murmur without thinking.
Jesus. What is wrong with me?
Miles laughs again. “Stop being naughty. I’m trying to teach you something important.”
“I would stop if every term in football didn’t sound so dirty.”
Miles shakes his head. “Okay. You’re the receiver, and I’m the defensive back. I can tell by the formation that a pass play is coming, so when the center hikes the ball, I rush forward and bump into you.”
He rushes toward me, and I freeze, bracing for impact. He pulls up short, then gently taps my shoulders with his palms, pushing me back a step.
“It breaks up the timing, so hopefully, the receiver won’t get to the spot where he’s supposed to be in time, disrupting the whole play.”
I tilt my head. “Can’t you just grab him, or something?”
“No, that’s a holding penalty. The offense would get five yards and a first down. I can only bump him and run.”
“I’ve been in that situation before,” I chuckle.
“Yeah, so have I,” he says staring at me with one eyebrow arched.
And, we’re back to this.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I figured most guys would be relieved if I’m not there when they wake up.”
The timer I set on the microwave starts to beep, and I use it as an escape hatch to end the conversation. If we keep talking about it, I might jump his bones, or something, and if––and that’s a big if––we decide to get physical again, we need to talk about it, first. Set some ground rules.
Miles joins me at the counter, and all tension from before seems to be gone. I give him a tub of white frosting and point to the bottles of food coloring on the counter.
“Add six drops of red and eight drops of yellow, then stir it until it’s all mixed in.”
I mix my own small batch, making the perfect shade of brown for the nipples. When Miles is done, he has a batch of tan-colored frosting. We frost the cookies with the tan, then I put my brown icing into a piping bag and show him how to make the nipples and cleavage. I get a little frosting on my thumb and stick it into my mouth without thinking.
Miles makes a strangled noise, and I look up at him to see fire banked in his blue eyes. Heat unfurls in my belly, and I pull my thumb free. I gasp as Miles dips his head and sucks my thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it to clean off the icing I missed. He holds my gaze the entire time, and I can feel my underwear getting damper and damper by the second.
His lips release my thumb with an audible pop, and we stare at each other without speaking for several tense beats. Then, as if we choreographed it, we lunge for each other, mouths connecting and arms tangling like our lives depend upon it.
Our kiss is deep and desperate, all lips and teeth and tongues as Miles slides his hands down to my ass and grips it tightly. As if I weigh nothing, he lifts me up, and I curl my legs around his waist. He spins and carries me into the living room, turning to sit on the couch with me clinging to him like a spider monkey.
My knees drop to the couch beside his hips, and the hands gripping my ass push me down, letting me feel the hard ridge of his cock. I rub myself against it as we continue to kiss, then Miles’ mouth breaks away and trails down my neck. I tilt my head back and to the side, and when my eyes flutter open, I see the bear sitting beside us, his dark button eyes judging me.
“Herman is watching us,” I breathe as Miles sucks at the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
Without pause, his hand shoots out, knocking the bear to the floor. A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I release Miles’ shoulders to whip my shirt over my head. Miles groans as he buries his face in my cleavage, his hands sliding up my bare back to unfasten my bra.
After pulling the garment free and slinging it across the room, he plumps up my breasts in his palms and kneads them as his tongue darts out to flick against a nipple. He alternates back and forth, torturing each pebbled nub before finally sucking one into his mouth and biting it gently.
A moan vibrates deep in my chest as I continue to grind against his erection. Some small, quiet voice in the back of my mind asks me what the hell I think I’m doing, but I tell that bitch to shut the fuck up. This feels too damn good.
I’ll worry about the consequences of my actions tomorrow.
Miles continues to knead one breast as he presses his mouth to mine, our tongues dueling for dominance as his other hand slips down between us and beneath the waistband of my leggings. I push myself up to give him room, and he groans into my mouth as his fingers brush over the wet crotch of my underwear.
He yanks the material aside, and a fingertip finds my clit with unerring precision. He rubs the pad of his finger over it in tight circles for a moment before sliding the digit through my slick flesh to dip inside me. I push down, encouraging him to drive it deeper, and he obliges with another moan.
“Fuck, Roxanne, you’re so wet for me,” he breathes as he pulls his finger free and pushes back in with two this time.
I love it when he calls me Roxanne, and so do my lady bits. Fresh moisture soaks his fingers, and much to my dismay, he pulls them free before pulling back, staring into my eyes, and pushing those fingers into his mouth. I watch with wonder as he groans and licks them clean, my heart beating like the hooves of wild horses sprinting on the open prairie.
My hands clutch his shoulders tightly as Miles stands, then turns to lay me on the couch. Prying my fingers free, he presses them to my bare breasts before gripping the waist of my leggings and yanking them down in one smooth motion. Pulling them free, he gives my underwear the same treatment. My knees fall open as he brushes a gentle hand up my inner thigh, and he smiles.
“Pinch your nipples,” he says, nodding to where my hands still rest on my breasts as he slides a finger against my clit.
I inhale sharply at the contact, sparks shooting down my legs as I lift my hips to increase the pressure. I knead my breasts, rolling my nipples between my fingers and pinching lightly as he instructed.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice almost a growl.
Then he drops to his knees beside the couch, throws my leg over his shoulder, and licks the length of my slit until his tongue taps against my clit. Using his fingers, he spreads me open, blowing a cool breath of air against the sensitive nub before flicking his tongue against it.
A soft cry bursts through my lips, and I pinch my nipples harder as he swirls his tongue around my clit. He pushes a finger deep inside me, pumping it in time with the strokes of his tongue, and I find myself on the precipice in record time. I just need one little push to fall right over the edge.
But Miles pulls back, not giving me the shove I need. Pulling his finger free, he stands. He watches me with dark, heated eyes as I continue to play with my breasts. Pulling his shirt over his head without bothering with the buttons, he tosses it aside and begins working on his belt. My eyes rove over his hard, muscled chest, and one of my hands slips down between my legs.
“Nuh-uh,” he says, his hand shooting out to grip my wrist. “I don’t want you to come until I’m buried deep inside that tight, wet pussy.”
His filthy words ramp up my need, but in an uncharacteristic show of obedience, I move my hand back up to my breast. Miles’ face reflects pride and pleasure as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans.
“That’s my girl,” he says as he pushes them down.
I swallow thickly at the sight of his hard cock straining against the cotton of his boxer briefs, and when Miles pushes them down to let the beast spring free, I gasp. I’ve seen it before. I’ve felt it inside me before.
But it still sends a shock of thrill through me. My mouth pools with saliva as he grips the shaft and begins to pump it slowly. Then he goes still, and I tear my gaze away from his cock to meet his eyes.
Wearing a pained expression, he says, “Please tell me you have condoms. I wasn’t expecting…I don’t have any on me.”
I do, in fact, have some in my night stand, but the thought of feeling him, skin to skin, has me rolling my hips as my need spikes to new heights.
“I do,” I admit, not wanting to lie to him. “But…”
“But what?”
“I have an IUD. And I’m clean. I got tested nine months ago, and there’s been no one but you since.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Are you saying…?”
“I want to feel you, Miles.”
This is stupid. On some level, I realize this. But my body is in charge, and I want to feel every inch of Miles’ flesh inside me. And I want him to feel me, too.
“I’m clean,” he says quietly. “Team gets tested every six months as part of our physical examinations.”
I nod as I sit upright. Standing, I move toward him, turning him before pushing him back down onto the couch. Climbing onto his lap, I straddle him again, this time with nothing between us. Rolling my hips to rub my soaked flesh along the length of his throbbing cock, I stare into his dark eyes.
“What do you want to do?”