Fair Game: A Football Romance (55 page)

His hand slides down my neck to the bare skin at the small of my back, and his fingers easily dip below the low waistline of my jeans. I pull away for a breath, but a moan escapes instead. Did I really just moan? The kiss deepens, and I have no control over what happens next—it just happens. King pulls me into the straddling position I was dying to be in just seconds ago and slides his hands under my ass. He pulls me flush against his chest and effortlessly stands to carry me across the bar, tangled with and clinging to his body without breaking the kiss. My eyes are closed while he carries me through a crowd of strangers, and for the fourth or fifth time tonight—hell, in my lifetime—I don’t care what’s happening. I don’t care what other people are thinking or what they’re saying. I’m only interested in pleasing one person other than myself, and his hands are plastered on my ass. I want this, whatever
this
is. I’ve been saving my body for a magical moment, a moment I always thought would be after college when I’m married and successful, but nope, that’s not happening.
This
is happening.

King moves fluidly around the tables and chairs, avoiding people—or perhaps they are avoiding us. I don’t know, because my eyes are closed and his mouth is consuming mine in a Gone with the Wind-worthy kiss.

When he stops, a loud buzzing sound startles me and I tighten my legs around his waist and fist his hair with both hands, but he doesn’t let go. My lips have found a home they never want to leave.

Click. Two steps through a door, and he has my back pressed against a wall. He takes advantage of having his hands free and pushes his fingers through my hair. This kiss is quickly approaching a nine on the Richter scale for the most earth-shattering kiss in history.

It’s quiet here—wherever here is—so quiet I can only hear our jagged breathing and the sound of our tongues exploring each other’s mouth. My heart is pounding against my chest so hard that I’m sure King can feel it. I think that’s my heart, anyway—maybe it’s his—it’s hard to tell where I end and he begins.

I can feel King’s hard length growing between my legs, causing a mixture of panic and need to materialize from nowhere. I’ve never been intimate with a man. These feelings are so foreign that I’m not sure what to do with them. Now that we’re alone, it all feels too real. Part of me wants him to just take our clothes off, and the other part would be happy staying just like this, kissing and touching and moaning. Oh, never mind. I need his skin on mine. Who am I kidding?

I open my eyes, intending to communicate this latest decision to King, but instead I blink and then blink again, opening them wide trying to see. Everything's so blurry. It’s no use. I’m buzzed, or maybe a little more than buzzed. I think I may be full-on drunk.

We’re alone, totally isolated from everyone in the club. King opens his eyes and stops kissing me. His lips hover over mine, just barely touching, breathing in my tiny, panting breaths that aren’t oxygenating my brain nearly enough. He narrows his eyes and presses one last, gentle kiss on my swollen lips before pulling away.

“Are you okay? Is
this
okay?” His hands relax in my hair and his thumbs caress my temples.

“Where are we?” I whisper. I squint my eyes, trying to look around the dimly lit living room that is annoyingly tilting ever so slightly to the left.

“My apartment. I live here right now.”

“In a bar?” I tuck my chin against my chest and look at him through lazy lids and thick lashes.

“Yes.” He chuckles and touches the tip of his nose to mine. He lives above a bar. What kind of person lives above a club? I straighten my legs and slide down the wall. King moves closer, supporting me until my bare feet touch the floor. With no heels on, I’m now face to face with a lovely sternum and pecs wrapped in a fitted sapphire blue shirt. I try to take a step away from him to explore this apartment over a club, and I stumble. His arms steady me for the second time tonight.

“You’re not used to drinking, are you?”

“Um, no. Actually, I never drink.” I shake my head back and forth like a bobble head doll—or maybe more like a person with Parkinson’s disease—and it makes me dizzy.

“I think you should sit down.” He frowns and takes my elbow to lead me to a large couch.

“That’s a king-sized couch ya got there.” I giggle at my little joke, and we don’t sit so much as collapse onto the couch, facing each other on our sides. My giggles keep coming, and after a while, I can’t decide if they’re a result of my drunkenness or anticipation of what’s coming next . . . probably both.

He props himself up on his elbow and lifts his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. Then he smiles down at me, and I reach out to stroke the scruff on his angular jaw. I examine it closely, smoothing it out and then ruffling it up, and I realize he’s searching for my eyes again. He’s the only thing that’s in focus. Everything else in the room is hazy and unclear.

I know I’m drunk and all, but I am positive there is a higher level of connection going on between us than normal. I’ve never been this close to a man other than my father, so I have nothing to compare this moment to, but something tells me it’s important, unique. I continue to stroke his face, bringing my other hand up to explore as well.

His hand covers one of mine. Bringing it to his mouth, he kisses my sensitive palm, flooding me with more new feelings and emotions. His warm, sultry eyes are trying to read my mind, but he’s frustrated. Does he know? How could he know? Does he feel my innocence . . . my inexperience?

“When I saw you on the dance floor tonight, I was taken with the way you seemed to feel the music.” He kisses the tip of each of my fingers one by one between his words, causing tiny electric jolts to shoot up my arm to my chest.

“I never leave Ecstasy’s VIP floor, but something about you called to me. I had to see if you were real,” he says, following his hand with his eyes as it drifts to my hip and then down my thigh, until he hooks it behind my knee and pulls my leg over his.

We’re so close, I’m having trouble focusing with all the heat swirling between us. I flop onto my back and pull my leg off of his.

“I’m real, all right . . . real drunk.” I flop my arm over my eyes and the giggles return.

“Holland, before we go any further, I want to make sure you’re protected. I just flew in this afternoon, and I don’t have anything on me.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about for a second. Protected from what? He doesn’t have what . . . oh, birth control . . . he means birth control. I’ve had endometriosis since I started my periods when I was thirteen. That counts, right? I hope so, because I’m not stopping this now.

I peek out from under my elbow and melt into the cushions of King’s king-sized couch when I see him smiling at me. It’s a beautiful smile, full of perfect, white teeth and full, soft lips. I think I may love this man’s smile. I nod to answer his question.

“You’re sweet.” He blinks slowly, and those amazingly long lashes seem to brush against his cheeks.

“You said that before.”

“Yes. Yes, I did, and I was right. You’re very sweet.” He leans over me until his lips softly brush against mine. An unfamiliar heat smolders just below the surface, waiting for a fire to catch. Our kisses bloom into so much more than mere kisses, and he celebrates every curve and dip of my body as our heartbeats synchronize. My head spins as he kisses a trail down the side of my neck. He nudges the strap of my tank top with his lips until it slides off of my shoulder, causing gooseflesh to spread across my skin. His warm, roaming mouth commands control of me. I can’t even breathe. A whimper slips from my lips, and I can’t organize two thoughts in a row to even know what this feels like. Something intense and exhilarating deep inside has been awakened, and I can’t stop it—I can’t even slow it down. I need him closer to me. I need his skin against mine.

His shirt is unbuttoned—I think
I
did that. When I push it off of his shoulders, he moans. He slides his hand across my bare midriff under the hem of my tank top, working the damp material upward. Our mouths part just long enough for him to pass it over my head and toss it somewhere behind me. A powerful aura flows from every pore of his body into mine when our skin connects. We gasp for breath, panting into each other’s open mouth, and we pause for several pounding heartbeats before King slows our pace. His fingers trail over the curve of my hip until he skims my breast, testing my boundaries.

              I’ve never done this before. Do I really want to now? I’m filled with alcohol, and I can’t think straight with King’s energy surrounding me. My body has no doubt as to what should happen next, and honestly, my head isn’t far behind, but there is still part of me—the sensible part that is being crowded into the corner of my mind—that is saying this is too much, too fast.

“Holland.” He moans my name between kisses, cutting my last thread of restraint. The niggling thought in the back of my mind evaporates—poof! Gone. My trembling fingers work to unbutton his jeans, and King moves to straddle me. His eyes are much darker now; all of the warm chocolate brown from earlier is gone, replaced by black desire and heat. He straightens up and laces his fingers with mine, spreading my arms out to my sides and baring my half-naked body. As his eyes wander over my skin, I can feel him memorizing me, burning every tiny birthmark and scar into his brain. His hungry gaze travels from my eyes to my mouth, where he lingers longest, and then to my breasts. I squirm under his stare right before his eyes settle on my tummy, where a diamond sparkles just above my navel. When our eyes connect again, I sense a moment of hesitance mixed with his passion, and I want to tell him not to stop.

“King,” I whisper, and he gently places one finger on my lips to quiet me. His powerful, chiseled body hovers over my soft curves, kissing and tasting, taking his time until he lands on a spot behind my ear that makes me quiver.

“Spot number one,” he murmurs in my ear and moves to press a long, lingering kiss with his velvety lips in the hollow of my throat. I moan and pull my legs around his hips, pressing my heels into the small of his back.

“Spot number two.” He pulls away and looks at me with satisfaction.

“That’s going to be a good one.” He smiles and stares at me for what feels like forever, and I think, my God, I need so much more, and he’s never going to move. But he does. He drags his tongue over the arc of my collarbone to my shoulder, where he stops to softly nip my skin between his teeth. When I gasp and tighten my grip on his hips with my legs, he informs me that this is indeed “Spot number three.” I’m dying to find out how many spots he’s going to assign numbers to.

He’s adoring me . . . cherishing every inch of me, and I just want him to rip my clothes off and take my virginity. God, just take it please. I groan and arch my back. Lifting my hips, I beg him without words to move faster, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he positions himself so that we are nose to nose. His eyes are closed, and I can feel his warm breath on my lips. He inhales a deep breath and slowly exhales, as if he’s trying to stay in control. When he opens his eyes, he reaches up to brush a stray piece of hair off of my forehead.

I’m seeing three of him now, and I can’t decide if this is a bad thing or a good thing. Supporting the weight of his body with his elbows on either side of my head, he slowly shakes his head back and forth, blurring my three Kings together into a blob until he stops and they all blend back into one.

“You’re so beautiful. There’s something different about you.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes to look deeper into mine.

“It’s something special—an innocence, a freshness I’m not used to feeling with women.” I worry my lip and wait for him to realize that I’m younger than I’ve advertised myself to be, but if he’s on to me, he doesn’t say anything. He leans back with his ass propped on his heels, and I fidget under his powerful gaze. He places his hand, palm down, between my breasts and drags it lazily over my hypersensitive skin to the jeweled button of my painted-on jeans.

“Spot number four?” he asks, feathering his fingers along the top of my jeans.

“Yes,” I whisper so quietly that I’m not sure he heard me until he bends to kiss spot number four.

“This is okay?” he asks, rising up off of me after shocking my entire system with a simple touch of his lips.

“Yes, please, King.” My words are his undoing. Something clicks, and slow adoration finally turns into a frenzy. He can’t peel my jeans off of me fast enough. He has to tug to get them past my ankles. Stupid tight jeans. When I’m completely bare, he stands at the edge of the couch, holding my eyes while he lowers his zipper.
Now
I’m nervous.
This
is real.
He
is real.
It’s
going to be real. He lowers his jeans and boxers, and I peek at his naked body but quickly close my eyes before I can completely process the vision. I end up feeling him more than seeing him at first. The quick look I did get of his lean, athletic body sends lightning bolts to my core and butterflies to my belly.

King moves over my quivering body, and I feel his knee gently nudge my legs apart at the same time his lips kiss spot number four again. I gasp as he forges one last trail of kisses along the inside of my thigh. I don’t know what to do with my hands or my feet or anything until his tongue touches me
there
. Holy shit! That is, without a doubt, spot number five. I grab his hair in my hands, arch my hips toward his mouth, and scrunch my toes so hard they hurt.