I want to roll over and plead for more sleep but force my tired eyes open.
We survived Julian, spring season, and finals. Today is the first day of summer break, and it feels glorious.
“What time do you have practice today?” I ask.
“We’re doing afternoon practices all week so the team can sleep in.” They’ll want to move them to mornings soon because the North Carolina heat makes afternoons insufferable. “So we have plenty of time to get to the track and go to the gym.”
I pout. We’ve continued working out, maintaining the same strict regimen. I’ve found that the gym is a release I never knew I needed. It helps me just like my therapy sessions with Briggs.
Beside me, Grey sits up, his back against the headboard, reviewing his schedule as he does each morning. The sight of his bare chest and arms rid any residual exhaustion as my body hums, my breasts becoming heavy as that ache between my legs becoming a demand. I thought my unyielding desire for him would lessen, that all the time spent in the gym and running would make me exhausted, and that having Grey buried inside of me while against every surface of his room and mine would feed my craving for him. Instead, it’s made it insatiable.
I reach beneath the blankets pooled at his waist, finding his cock already hard.
Grey’s breath leaves in a hiss through his teeth as he drops his head back. I run my hand over his impressive length and then shift to my knees, pulling the blankets back to get a better image of Grey wearing nothing but his inked tattoos and underwear. That ache in my core intensifies, desperate to crawl into his lap and sink down onto him.
He watches me, need and desire darkening his eyes and weighting his eyelids. I’d give my inheritance to capture how he looks at me and make it into a mural on my wall.
I tug down the band of his underwear, freeing his cock as he remains still except to brush my hair back.
I grip him with both hands and draw my tongue across the head of his cock, loving the way his breath leaves in a groan, his hands fist in my hair, and his abs clench. I take him into my mouth and move one hand, so he goes all the way to the back of my throat before sliding back up, sucking him as I do.
“Fuck.” His voice is guttural and deep.
I continue, changing my angle and flicking my tongue along his shaft and head with each pass.
Grey’s thighs are hard as concrete as he works to remain still and controlled. It only makes me more persistent and determined to make him lose that orderly stillness.
This time as I lower my mouth over him and relax my throat, Grey’s hips shift forward, his fingers knotting in my hair, wanting to fuck my mouth.
I smile around him, and he swears.
In one swift move, Grey pulls out of my mouth and rolls me, pinning me to the bed. He grips my chin as his lips ply at mine, reinstating his control.
I kiss him back and invade his mouth with my tongue, seeking my own dominance or maybe encouraging his.
Before I can decide, Grey gathers my shirt in his hands and pulls it over my head, tossing it to the floor as he rises to his knees. He slips his fingers into my panties and slides them down my legs before dropping them near his pillow. I’m about to snatch them and toss them to the floor, but Grey’s hands settle on my thighs, pressing my legs open.
He stares down at my sex with the carnal look of desire consuming his features and then falls onto my center like a starved man. He draws out my pleasure in waves that have my entire body tingling, hot, and entirely too tight before my release surges through me.
I’ve barely taken a breath when he props my legs on his chest, a pose that I know will forever ruin me from our partner stretches, and fills me so deep and full, I moan my relief.
Grey swipes a hand under me and lifts my hips off the mattress, shoving a pillow under my lower back and butt. The angle has him seated so deeply inside of me my eyes roll back. Without moving his hips, Grey skates his hands over the tops and insides of my thighs.
As soon as I open my eyes, his hips shift, a small roll that has my moan a breathy sound. He grips my thighs, a possessive touch as his thrusts grow longer, harder, faster. My breathing is ragged, my body pulsing with pleasure.
He reads me like a book, knowing how close I am to a second orgasm as he discovers the exact rhythm and spot that has my blood red hot. Then he slides his thumb over me, tipping me straight over the ledge where I never want to return from as he follows me right into the abyss.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Grey says, pumping long and slow thrusts as my breaths rattle out of me.
“We could skip cardio and do this again.”
He grins and squeezes my butt with both hands as he draws out of me. “We can do cardio and still make time to do this again.”
He chuckles as I frown and then kisses the inside of my ankle before lowering my legs to the bed and getting up.
I take a weighted breath, never wanting to leave the confines of this room as the scent of his cologne and sex perfume the air.
“Are you looking forward to your photo shoot?” I ask.
Grey glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, disbelief colored in a question. Today’s his first photo shoot for Mr. Barnhardt, a deal I thought I’d lost due to beating them all at Topgolf. But since Grey made national news along with Cole, Abe, and Mackey, everyone wants him. Barnhardt showed up at the facility two days ago with a contract and a cigar that he gifted to Grey to celebrate their budding partnership. Cole has been invited to Vegas. Mackey is bitter as hell that his gym is packed, but secretly, I think he loves it.
I’m so damn proud of Grey, despite feeling the nails of jealousy, knowing how many are imagining Grey in all the ways I do with his face and body covering them, exploring them—pleasuring them.
“Do I get signed copies for inspiration once the season begins?”
“What kind of inspiration are we talking about?”
“The kind where I’m wearing your shirt while my fingers are between my legs.”
He hooks his fingers under my chin. “Only if it’s while we’re on a video call.”
The idea of watching Grey pleasure himself in a foreign hotel room with me as his audience has my blood thrumming with determination and anticipation.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.
“All the filthy thoughts.”
He smiles fiendishly. “Fuck the track.” And then he’s on top of me, kissing me while making me giggle and moan as we find far more creative ways to get in our cardio.
