Chapter Four Elise
Watching Randall’s tongue glide over my folds is an incredible sight to behold. His calloused hands spread and widen my thighs with confidence. My fingers rub the soft strands of his hair, while my hips swirl to the rhythm of his firm, steady licks. He’s relentlessly thorough, like he could be there all night.
I need more than his skillful mouth. I’m aching to be filled.
As if he read my mind, Randall comes up for air and says, “You’re so sweet, Elise. I love the way you taste. But if I don’t sink my cock in this hot pussy soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”
His finger finds my entrance, rubbing it gently. Expertly. Possessively. “You’re going to come on my mouth and my hand. Say ‘yes, sir.’”
“Yes, sir,” I repeat with a shamelessly desperate sigh.
Randall sucks my clit while churning two fingers on my entrance, moving in and out. My center tightens around his invasion, clamping hard when he curls up and massages my front walls. His tongue presses on my clit, and that does it. I come so hard, my thighs convulse and squeeze.
When I come down from the peak of bliss, Randall is there. Pressing light, gentle kisses where I’m sore and sated.
He smiles proudly, mouth and chin shimmering. Between my thighs is a fairytale prince with my arousal smeared all over his face.
The contradiction of his wholesome good looks and lewd acts is astounding. A few blond strands fall over his eyes. No grown man with that kind of mouth should be so damn cute.
That’s probably the exact thought of the woman he had in his bed last night, and the night before that.
The thought chokes me, so I dismiss it like the stupid sentiment it is. Nothing makes a person dumber than when they’re on a sex high.
Why should I care that Randall Haughland unleashes his skillful tongue and outrageous cuteness with other women?
He kisses up my body, giving my breasts attention before he leans on an elbow. His other hand cups my pussy. “Ready for more?”
“If by more you mean that cock leaving a dent on my hip, then yeah.”
When he stands, I whimper. He’s eyeing me intently while pulling something out of his wallet. The foil packet is quickly ripped and his thickness sheathed.
Above me again, Randall’s kiss is a welcome invasion. He called me sweet after tasting me, but it’s an insufficient word for the flavor we’re sharing between us. I taste the thick, primal essence of lust—musky and herbal and rich. I taste him.
“Are you ready for me, Elise? I’m gonna die if I don’t get inside you, baby.”
“I do. Yes, I am. I mean…” What did he ask me? “Yes!” I exclaim since that should cover everything.
He bites my neck swiftly, a reprimand and a reward together. “Say it.”
“I mean yes, sir. I need your cock, sir,” I say, tongue in cheek. I feel his chuckle and can’t help my smile. This game we’re playing is sexy yet playful, exciting yet natural.
“Jesus, Elise, where the hell did you come from,” he mutters while nudging my legs open and cresting the head of his penis. “Second I saw you, I couldn’t turn away.”
“I’m just a girl, on a bed, needing to be fucked.”
He grins down at me. But when I grab his ass and lift my hips, urging him into my channel, his lips turn serious. Stern even.
Randall swirls as I accommodate his girth. He strokes my hair and kisses me while he pushes in. A guttural noise escapes his lips just as he pushes to the hilt. “Oh fuck, it’s too damn good.”
Our bodies find a perfect rhythm. His plunges deepen. One hand hikes my thigh at an angle that feels so intense, I might start sobbing.
“Tried to hide your body under those clothes, Elise?” he says, pounding into me. “But you’re too beautiful to hide.”
His words are another set of hands to urge me on and on, making me feel desired. Like I’m the only woman he’d ever want, even if that can’t possibly be true. An actor would get an Oscar for this level of convincingness. Or a nomination, at the very least.
“Baby, you take me so fucking good.” It’s intoxicating to have all that attention while his cock thrusts ferociously now.
“God, right there. Oh, Randall,” I moan because I’m so close to another orgasm. He slows down instead, churning languidly and giving my clit just enough attention to keep me on the edge but withholding release.
“Ride me. On top.” Is there anything sexier than a man who knows what I need before I do? He flips me over without losing our connection. Straddling his hips, I move tentatively at first because he’s stretching me impossibly. The pleasure is acute. Nearly too much.
He reaches up to massage my breasts, pinching my nipples. “No holding back. Ride me. Say ‘yes, sir.’” Randall juts his hips repeatedly, urging me open, plundering up steadily.
“Ye-yes, sir,” I mumble past the heat and bliss coursing between us. I begin riding him roughly, my breasts bouncing and thighs strained. But it feels too good to stop. I’m almost there. Throwing my head back and making animal sounds, I’m so close.
“Look at me.” His blue eyes are nearly black, his face ferocious with pleasure and need. When Randall rubs my clit, I’m slayed. My center squeezes his erection and every clenched muscle in my core begins to pulse.
“You’re too good, baby. You’re making me…” A manly groan leaves his body, and his hands dig into my hips. He continues to pound up through his own climax.
We watch each other fall apart. Everything about him tightens: the brawny shoulders, the carved biceps, the cords on his neck. Sinews like steel cables and tendons as taut as bowstrings seem at the brink of snapping. He growls as the last of his powerful surges detonate another explosion inside me.
I collapse over him like a rag doll.
“Wow, that was…” he trails off.
“Above average,” I say with a cackle because it’s like calling the Himalayas above ground.
To his—or his bravado’s—credit, Randall snorts. “I’ll work harder next time,” he says teasingly and nips my ear lobe. “Just remember you asked for it.”
Wow. It takes a second to quell the swoon impulse. This man has serious game. His grip tightens around my ass cheeks. I wiggle my body playfully and his cock stirs.
“Hold it, hotshot, I need to clean up.” I head to the bathroom to relieve myself. I consider the woman in the mirror. She’s flushed and disheveled and grinning like a fool. I splash water on my face, because I’d like to get dressed without looking like I’m drunk on sex.
“Calling room service. Are you a vegetarian?” Randall asks from the other side of the bathroom door.
Does he expect me to stay? I’m about to say no thanks and make the usual excuses to leave. It’s been a long day and an even longer night.
“I’ll get a vegetarian pizza with the cheeseburgers,” he continues, not waiting for my answer. When I come out, he tilts his head at me. “Anything else?”
I haven’t eaten since sharing a plate of wings at the bar. Cheeseburger room service sounds like the epitome of luxury. Add to that the enjoyable view of Randall with tousled hair, swollen lips, and low-slung boxers. It feels silly to leave right now. It’s not like I’m staying over.
“I thought athletes only ate salads and protein shakes. Aren’t you supposed to watch what you eat?”
“Good point. I’ll order fries,” he quips while patting his six pack.
He calls in the order. He’s taken out two water bottles from the minibar, so I open one and gulp the much-needed hydration. When Randall hangs up, he takes his own water bottle and nearly finishes it in one go.
“What’s with the rules?” he asks, holding up a beer for me. “Not that I’m complaining. I wish more women were up front about expectations.”
I bypass the beer and lift my water bottle instead. “Or more men, for that matter.”
“Sure. Although I’m as up front as it gets. What do you want to know about my expectations?” he asks with a wink, putting the beer away and grabbing another water.
I consider his question for a minute and decide that if there’s one person I don’t have to worry about, it’s this playboy goalie. My rules serve him as much as they suit me.
“You don’t expect me to share my cheeseburger, do you?”
He laughs before pulling me into the bed and kissing me hard.
When the room service arrives, I even have my own plate of fries.