Hearts in Overtime: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (29 page)

I leaned just a little bit closer, rested my elbow on the table and cupped my chin in my hand.

“I’m so glad you agreed to come out with me tonight, Ian,” I said.

“Well, I’m very glad that you invited me. You’re a splendid girl, Selena.” He smiled.

Nice. That was encouraging, to say the least.

I laughed quietly and said, “I can’t believe what a weird kid I was, writing you all those letters and sending you all those things. Did that freak you out at all?”

“Not at all. It was clear from your letters that you were very young. It was sweet. I always thought so.”

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Some of the things I wrote weren’t so sweet, and certainly not so innocent. I distinctly remember writing to you in great detail about how much I wanted to shag you.”

His smile widened, and his eyelids lowered just a tad, which seemed promising.

“I recall that as well,” he said, his voice dropping down a few octaves so that it was lower, softer.

I leaned even closer and said, “I still do, you know. I still really, really want to shag you.”

His smile didn’t fade; in fact, it was wider than ever, but that moment right before he spoke was absolute torture. I had never been so forward with a guy in my entire life, and I was scared to death that I would either freak him out or gross him out or make him uncomfortable or any number of other things.

“Well…” he said, pausing for what I don’t know. Dramatic effect? To torture me? “Let’s see if we can make that happen then, shall we?”

Relief flooded my body and it was as if a ten ton weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Ian leaned forward and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. I wrapped my arms out his neck, he slid his arms around my waist, and we deepened the kiss. His tongue was confident, exploring my mouth with swift, certain swirls, and he tasted delicious—light and crisp like the wheat beer from Germany, which, unsurprisingly was the last shot of beer he’d tasted.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was kissing Ian Hixon! I was kissing Ian Hixon!!! The fifteen-year-old inside me was jumping all over the place, punching the air and squealing with glee.

We slowly pulled apart and he said, “Let’s get the bill.”

Still somewhat dazed by the delightful turn of events, I could only nod. He signaled for the waiter, who approached within moments to drop the check on our table because I guess you didn’t have to be a genius to see that we were ready to leave. I reached for the check, but Ian stopped me by clamping a hand over my wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t, Selena,” he said.

“What? Why not? I’m the one who invited you out,” I replied.

“Don’t be daft.”

With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, and then he pulled a black Amex card out of his wallet. I have to say it was pretty impressive that he managed to do that with only one hand. He slid the card into the leather folder and only then did he let go of my wrist.

“Well…thank you, Ian,” I said, squeezing his knee.

“You’re very welcome.”

Richardson was waiting for us outside in the luxury Audi. I couldn’t imagine that he’d been parked out front the whole time we were in there. Maybe Ian had texted him when I was in the bathroom or something.

It was late, so traffic wasn’t bad at all, and we zipped down Park Avenue in no time at all. Richardson turned onto Central Park South and pulled up in front of the Plaza Hotel.

Nice! I’d been to the tearoom at the Plaza a couple of different times for the bridal showers of my wealthier friends, but I’d never seen one of the actual hotel rooms, so I was stoked. Once we’d gotten out of the car and wished Richardson a good night, Ian grabbed my hand and led me into the luxury hotel.

“Good evening, Mr. Hixon,” said the doorman.

“Good evening,” Ian said.

I followed him through the grand entrance and into the spectacular lobby.

“Good evening, Mr. Hixon,” said the concierge.

“Good evening,” Ian said.

Yikes. It was weird how everybody knew him. For a moment I yearned for the anonymity of a random two or three star hotel, but then I took one last look at the lush opulence of the Plaza’s lobby and I got over that.

“Good evening, Mr. Hixon,” said the elevator operator.

“Good evening,” Ian said.

What in the world? It’s not like Ian was a Beatle or something. Despite being the best band in the world (obviously), Soar never really made it that big, especially not outside of the UK. Hence the fact that they played their show at an intimate downtown venue tonight, instead of some massive arena.

It seemed strange to me that all the hotel employees should know Ian by name. But maybe it had nothing to do with the fact that he was somewhat famous. Maybe they made it a point to know the names of all their guests. I wouldn’t be surprised. The extremely wealthy live in a whole different world than us regular folk do.

After the elevator operator deposited us on the 20
th
floor, Ian took my hand, led me down the hall, and opened the door of his room with a key card. Well…“room” is definitely not the right word to use here. When he switched the light on, an exquisite chandelier lit up the fancy room complete with plush sofa, marble tables, a fireplace and a massive staircase.

“Wow,” I said.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Ian said.

“Um…yeah, you could say that.” I squinted my eyes and looked across the room to what seemed to be a set of glass doors. “Do you have a balcony?”

“I have a terrace, actually,” he said, with a sheepish smile. “I know this is all a bit ostentatious, to put it mildly, but the lads and I do so love this hotel, so we figured why not?”

“Exactly. Why not?” I grinned and squeezed his hand. “So, what’s upstairs?” I asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer would be.

And he knew that I knew, judging from the mischievous look on his face. “Why don’t you come on up and I’ll show you?”

Before I could respond, he was racing up the stairs, and only a split second later, I was hot on his heels, giggling like a schoolgirl. Once I got to the top of the stairs, I turned just in time to see him do a belly flop on the huge, king-sized bed. Taking a running leap, I did the same thing, and landed with a very unladylike “uumpfh” with my face sliding along the slippery silk bedcover.

“Selena, love, you are the perfect picture of grace,” Ian said.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, trying to hold my laughter in. “Like your landing was any smoother than mine.”

“Come here, you,” he said, reaching out for me.

I got up onto my hands and knees and crawled over to where Ian was, dropping easily into his open arms and pressing my chest against his. I reached down to stroke his cheek with one hand, burying my fingers of my other hand in his short, thick blond hair. He reached up to trace my lips, and to fondle my hair.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here with you, Ian,” I murmured. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this happening?”

He just smiled and leaned up to whisper, “You’re so lovely.”

He arched his head upward to kiss me, and I lost myself in the moment as he plunged his tongue deeper and deeper inside of my mouth. My panties were drenched, and my tits were aching for his touch. My nipples were as hard as little rocks, just dying to burst out from the confines of my bra.

It would seem that Ian felt the same way because a moment later, he sat up. With both of us sitting on the bed but still lip-locked, we each started taking off the other one’s shirt. My task was a bit easier. I drew away from his kiss and lifted his dreamy soft cotton tee shirt over his head to reveal his gorgeous pecs and washboard abs. Holy crap! I still couldn’t believe Ian, the lanky musician from the 90s had transformed into Ian, the rock hard muscular man of today. I leaned forward to plant a whole bunch of hot, wet kisses on his chest until he spoke.

“Is this like a chastity belt for the tits or what?” he asked, laughing.

“Oh, sorry!”

I giggled and helped him unknot the laces of my corset top. It’s true, it wasn’t the most practical garment in my wardrobe, but it was probably the most flattering. Once we got it off, Ian reached back and unsnapped my bra with one deft motion.

I squealed with delight as my tits spilled out of my bra. With a low groan, Ian tossed the bra on the floor, and his mouth zoomed in on my nipple like a heat-seeking missile.

Oh, it felt so incredible. I arched my back and lifted my face to the ceiling as the sexiest man I’d ever met in my entire life swirled his tongue expertly around my red hot nipple. He stroked my tits with both hands; the one that wasn’t getting any attention from his tongue was getting plenty from his hand. The pads of his fingers were rough and calloused from decades of sliding up and down the fret of his guitar, and the sensation of his hardened fingertips rubbing my sensitive nipple was absolutely out of this world—almost as much so as the feeling of his soft, wet tongue on the other nipple.

“Your tits are amazing, Selena,” he said, pulling back to gaze into my eyes. He cupped both my boobs in his hands, but as big as his hands were—and they were very large, very manly—my tits were bigger, and they spilled out from every side. “Oh, Jesus,” he moaned, leaning forward again to feast on the other nipple.

With my back arched and with bolts of pleasure shooting through my body, I reached down to find Ian’s cock. My fingers came into contact with the soft, worn denim of his jeans. I trailed my fingers forward, toward him until I reached the rock hard rod between his legs.

Ian gasped, and dialed down the swirling tongue action on my nipple as I ran my fingers up and down over his cock. After only a couple of strokes, though, I started to get frustrated. I wanted to touch him. I
needed
to touch him. And so I reached down with the other hand to unbutton his fly and unzip his jeans. I shifted my weight, and motioned for him to shift his, and I slid those jeans right down his legs, followed swiftly by his boxer briefs.

That cock, that gloriously powerful
huge
cock was so amazing, I half expected to hear the sound of angels singing.

“You have a gorgeous cock, Ian,” I murmured appreciatively before diving right in.

I started by planting a soft, wet kiss right on the head, and then I worked my way downwards, licking and nibbling and kissing along the side of his shaft. With one hand stabilizing the base of his cock—and gently massaging it—I reached down with my other hand to fondle his balls.

After licking and kissing and nibbling all around, I parted my jaws as far as they could stretch, and I took him into my mouth.

Mmm. He tasted delicious—hot and salty and so, so good. I slid my lips up and down his shaft, consciously relaxing my throat muscles so that I could take him in completely.

Ian moaned and dug his fingers into my scalp. I swirled my tongue around a bit to enhance the experience as I bobbed up and down over his glorious cock.

I know I keep harping on about this, but it was still so hard to believe. I had my lips wrapped around Ian Hixon’s cock! Ian Hixon’s cock!!! The perfection of the moment—the fact that I was actually living my teenage dream—was so incredibly strong that I think it probably helped me give the best blowjob of my entire life. I sped things up and got even more creative with my tongue action, but after only a few moments of this, Ian placed one hand on either side of my face and lifted me up off of him.

“I want to be inside you, love,” he said.

“I want that too. So much,” I whispered.

Oh! With what I’m certain was a dreamy, lovesick look on my face, I allowed Ian to maneuver me this way and that as he unbuttoned my skirt and slid it off my hips and down my legs, followed by my tights and my panties.

He reached in between my legs to stroke my pussy with those rough, calloused fingers of his, and I opened my thighs wide to welcome him.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he murmured, scooping up two fingers full of my juices and starting to circle my clit.

I fell back onto the bed, gazing up at him gazing straight at my pussy like it was the most awesome thing he’d ever seen. I’d imagined this exact thing a million times before, but I never truly believed it could happen. But it was happening, it was happening right now. Me and Ian Hixon. Holy crap!

He leaned down and—oh, god—he positioned his head between my thighs and—oh, GOD—he slid two fingers in and out of my pussy as he teased my clit with his tongue.

Bucking wildly beneath him, I came almost immediately after he first pressed his hot, wet tongue against my hard, pink pebble. I should have known it would happen. This was the guy whose face I had in mind the very first time I dared to slide my own fingers into my panties and touch myself. This was the guy who I had my first sex dream about. This was the guy who starred in all the sex fantasies I had for the majority of my teen years. How could I
not
have come almost immediately?

As the last aftershocks of orgasmic tremors rocked my body, Ian kissed his way up from my pussy, over my mound, over my belly and my tits to my mouth where he gave me the slowest, deepest, hottest kiss I’d ever experienced. When he came up for air, he smiled down at me and I released a soft, blissful sigh.