Chapter 32 Maverick
maverick
. . .
We land just after noon, and the crisp chill hits me the instant we step off the jet. Amelia’s hand is in mine, as her pretty green eyes canvass our surroundings. I want to abandon everything and take her exploring, but I have a busy schedule before the game tomorrow.
My team’s already at the hotel, so we head straight there. The lobby is all marble floors, high ceilings, and the low murmur of the front desk clerks checking in the rest of the Mustangs.
“Hayes, your room’s on the twentieth floor,” the concierge says, handing me two key cards. “Coach already sent your itinerary.”
I slide the cards into my pocket, tugging Amelia toward the elevator.
The doors slide shut, and the quiet lull of the elevator fills the space. She leans into me, voice soft enough to make my pulse jump.
“Suite?”
I smirk, stepping in close enough that my chest brushes her shoulder. “Suite,” I say, lowering my voice. “Private balcony. Perfect spot for you to distract me before I’m supposed to be serious.”
Her brow arches. “You’re never serious.”
I grin wider, tilting my head as I watch her. “Oh, I can be serious. Especially when it comes to you, dollface.”
She groans, tipping her head back dramatically. “God, you’re insufferable.”
I press a hand to the wall beside her head, caging her in just enough to watch her eyes flicker. “Funny,” I murmur, my mouth curving wickedly, “you don’t seem to mind when I’m deep inside you.”
Her cheeks flush, but she snaps back instantly, lips curving. “Maybe because that’s the only time you shut up.”
I laugh, leaning in so close my breath skates across her ear. “Oh, sweetheart, if you think I’m quiet when I’m fucking you, you’re not paying attention.”
She shoves at my chest, but her smirk betrays her. “You never stop talking. I’m shocked your mouth doesn’t get sore.”
I catch her wrist, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles, eyes locked on hers. “The only sore mouth I want is yours—from moaning my name all night.”
Her eyes widen, her lips part, and for a second, she’s speechless. Victory hums through my veins.
The elevator dings, doors sliding open, and I step back with a cocky grin. “Suite’s this way, wife. Try to keep up.”
The suite door clicks shut behind us, and Amelia walks in ahead of me, taking in the skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows like she’s not impressed, even though I can tell she is.
I drop my bag by the couch, grinning. “Not bad, huh? Balcony, minibar, king-size bed. All the essentials.”
She glances back at me, one brow arched. “All the essentials for who, exactly? ’Cause it sure as hell sounds like you.”
I spread my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Obviously. I’m high maintenance.”
That earns me a snort, which I count as a win. She crosses to the minibar, grabs a water, and twists the cap off.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, but there’s the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
I stroll closer, hands shoved in my pockets, tilting my head. “Funny. You keep saying that, but you still agreed to marry me.”
“Fake marry you,” she corrects, taking a sip.
“Details,” I shrug, smirking. “Paperwork still says Amelia Hayes.”
Her eyes narrow, but her cheeks flush, and God, I could live off that reaction alone.
She sets the bottle down with a sharp little click. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Nope.” I grin, closing the space between us until she’s leaning back against the minibar. “But you love it.”
She tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “You’re confusing me with someone who likes headaches.”
“C’mon, dollface,” I murmur, lowering my voice just enough. “You don’t look too miserable sharing a suite with me.”
For a second, she doesn’t answer. Then she smirks, pushes at my chest lightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
I laugh, stepping back just as my phone buzzes with the dinner reminder. I glance at it, groaning.
Amelia slips past me toward her bag, her hips swaying like she knows I’m watching. “Guess you’ll have to annoy me at dinner instead.”
I grin, shaking my head. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.”
As soon as we head down into the private dining area, JP’s laughing too hard at something Pierce just said, while waving a breadstick dangerously close to Pierce’s eye.
Amelia slides in beside me, tucking her hair behind her ear. I pull her closer, my hand tightening around her waist as I lean down to whisper, “You gonna let me peel that dress off you later, dollface?”
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as she swats at my chest.
Coach Mike clears his throat, standing at the head of the table. “Alright, listen, you fucks.” His voice booms, instantly silencing half the table. “I don’t care if you’re shoving garlic bread down your throats; tomorrow’s game is important. You hear me?”
“Tomato game,” JP mocks, grinning, earning a quick smack to the back of the head from Pierce.
Coach points at them, his mustache twitching. “You two, shut the fuck up.”
The table erupts in laughter. Amelia hides a smile behind her wine glass, her green eyes flicking to me like she’s surprised by the circus I live in.
Coach keeps going, stabbing a finger in my direction. “And you, Hayes. You better lock in or I’ll bench your ass so fast your sponsors won’t even have time to cry about it.”
The whole table howls. I grin, leaning back in my chair, throwing an arm over Amelia’s chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Bench me? C’mon, Coach, then who’s gonna make us look good on ESPN?”
“Anybody else,” Coach fires back.
More laughter.
Pierce nearly chokes on his breadstick. Amelia actually laughs this time, shaking her head. “You’re really good at making friends,” she whispers, low enough just for me.
I nudge her knee under the table, smirking. “What can I say? I’m lovable.”
“Annoying,” she corrects as she cradles my face in her hands, kissing my nose.
“Lovably annoying, baby,” I shoot back, kissing her right back on her forehead.
Coach groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, Hayes. Less flirting, more focus. Tomorrow’s game is not a joke. You either lock in, or I swear to God, I’ll stick JP in at quarterback.”
The table explodes again. JP sits up straighter, puffing his chest. “Hell yeah, Coach. Put me in, I’ll sling it.”
“You can’t even sling your laundry into a hamper,” Pierce fires back, and the guys lose it all over again.
Amelia leans closer to me, her voice dry but playful. “Your teammates are children.”
I grin, watching her sip her wine. “And I’m their babysitter, partially.”
She smirks, her eyes glinting in the candlelight. “That explains a lot.”
SportsCenter reruns blare on the TV in our hotel room, but I’m not even watching because Amelia is all I can focus on as she lies next to me, scribbling on her iPad.
She’s curled up against the pillows, my jersey hanging loosely on her frame, the hem brushing her bare thighs. Her iPad rests on her knees, her Apple Pencil moving in quiet little strokes as she sketches. She glances over at me now and then, her pretty, pouty lips begging to be sucked.
I smirk to myself. “You keep looking at me like that, dollface, you’re gonna distract me from the very important job of watching myself on highlight reels.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t look up. “Trust me, Hayes, your ego doesn’t need me to feed it.”
“Okay, baby, sure,” I shoot back, shifting just enough that the elastic of my boxers strains against the weight of my cock, already stirring just from her in my jersey.
Her hand pauses, pencil hovering, and when her eyes flick up to mine, there’s a spark there.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says, but her tone is softer than usual, laced with something else.
I grin, rolling onto my side to face her. “And yet… you’re wearing my number while you draw pretty little pictures in bed. Starting to think you’re obsessed with me.”
Her smirk sharpens, but she sets the iPad down anyway, turning toward me. The jersey slips off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin I want to bite.
“Obsessed?” she repeats, crawling over me until she’s straddling my hips. Her thighs squeeze tight around me, and I swear I’m about to pass out.
“Baby,” I rasp, my hands already sliding up the back of her thighs, “you sit on me in that jersey, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
She leans down, her lips grazing mine but not kissing me, her smirk wicked. “It’s actually my turn to ruin you.”
The hem of my jersey rides up, brushing over her bare thighs, and all I can do is stare up at her, my chest rising sharp with every breath.
“Amelia,” I rasp, hands sliding up to her waist, “you can’t just—”
She leans down, pressing her mouth to mine before I can finish. Her nails drag lightly down my chest as I groan into her mouth, trying to deepen the kiss, but she pulls back just as fast, smirking like the devil herself.
“You’re cruel,” I mutter, chasing her lips again.
“Cruel?” she teases, nipping my jaw. “You love it.”
And God help me, she’s right.
Her hips roll once, grinding against my bulge in my boxers. My breath stutters as my hands grip her tighter. “Fuck, Amelia, please.”
She laughs before sliding off me. My groan of protest dies in my throat when she pushes my shorts down, freeing me, my cock already hard and aching.
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, head tipping back against the pillow as she wraps her hand around me. “Dollface, you’re gonna kill me.”
She leans down, licking a slow stripe up the length before taking my cock into her mouth. My hips jerk, a strangled sound tearing out of me.
“Fuck, fuck—” My hand fists the sheets, my other tangling in her hair as she bobs slowly, teasing, her tongue swirling along my thick length.
I glance down, and the sight of her ruins me for anyone else. Her, in my jersey with her lips wrapped around my cock, looking smug as hell.
I’m gone for her. Correction, I’ve been gone for her.
“You’re unreal,” I choke out, voice breaking. “God, Amelia, you’re so fucking perfect.”
She pulls back just long enough to whisper, as her lips glisten with my precum, “Good luck tomorrow, quarterback.” Then she sinks down again, deeper, and my hips jerk helplessly.
“Oh my God—fuck—Amelia, baby, please—don’t stop, don’t ever stop—”
I’m begging, and I don’t give a flying fuck.
Her mouth slides down my cock again, and I swear I’m losing my mind. My hand fists the sheets, as my other hand tangles in her hair, careful not to force, even though every instinct in me is screaming to.
“Jesus Christ, Amelia,” I groan, hips jerking. “Your mouth, fuck, it feels unreal.”
She pulls back just enough to wrap her hand around my cock, stroking slowly, her lips glistening. Her eyes cut up at me. “You like this, quarterback? Watching me on my knees for you?”
My chest heaves, a wrecked laugh escaping. “Like it? Baby, I’m fucking obsessed. You gonna swallow my cum, huh? Take every drop for me?”
Her smirk sharpens as her tongue flicks across the head of my cock, teasing. “Only if you beg.”
“Fuck,” I groan, my head tipping back, hips twitching against her hand. “Please, Amelia. Please, baby, swallow me for me.”
She laughs low in her throat, then sinks back down, taking me deeper, her throat flexing around me. My eyes roll back as a hoarse groan tears out of me.
“That’s it,” I pant, gripping the sheets tighter. “God, you look so good with my cock in your mouth. You’re killing me, dollface. Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop.”
She pulls off again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes blazing. “You’re so desperate for me, baby.”
“Yeah, I am desperate for you, have been since I first saw you. ” I rasp, my chest heaving. “ Please, fuck, make me cum, Amelia.”
Her lips curl into a wicked smile before she swallows me down again, her tongue working me mercilessly.
I can’t hold it back anymore as my orgasm slams through me, brutal, my cock jerking as I spill into her mouth.
My groan is guttural, broken, as I watch her swallow it, her throat working, her eyes locked on mine.
When she pulls back, she licks her lips. “Good luck, again, quarterback.”
I collapse against the pillows, completely wrecked, grinning like an idiot even through the sweat dripping down my temple. “Baby,” I pant, still catching my breath, “if you keep doing shit like that, I’ll retire tomorrow.”