“You’re so pretty down here. Pink and wet.” He leans forward and runs the flat of his tongue from my clit to my pucker and back again. “And you taste like a fucking dream.”

“Please, Knox.” I’m not too proud to beg. “I need you.”

His fingers tangle in my curls as he continues to lap between my legs as if I’m not almost dying for the want of him. I dig my fingers into his hair and tug. He pushes his shoulders between my legs, spreading me out in an intensely vulnerable way.

“I want you to come on my tongue, Ellie.” His lips move against my skin and even that contact is so erotic I lift my hips to seek out more. “Every night we’ve been apart, I dreamt of you. I had your taste in my mouth and your scent in my lungs, but it would disappear when I woke. Now that I have you…” He pauses to curl his tongue around that throbbing bit of flesh at the top of my sex. “I want to eat you until I coat my throat with you.”

Above him, I shudder in full surrender. His words are nearly as erotic as his touch. I give myself to him, to his clever fingers and his adventurous tongue. He works me over for what seems like hours, one languorous caress after another, until I come in a flood, my toes curling into the air and my thighs trembling against his shoulders.

He surges upward then, his mouth glistening with the evidence of my orgasm. Between his legs his shaft hangs heavy, and the tip of it is wet with his own excitement.

I reach for him and wrap my fingers around that stiff cock. He allows me to guide him to my center. My release has left me swollen, and despite the wetness he coaxed from me, I’m tight against his generous girth.

His lips pull back in a hiss as I suck him in slowly. He lets me set the pace this time, and I treat him with the same studied deliberateness he inflicted on me.

“Aww, fuck, baby,” he rasps out. “You feel so good. So good.”

He falls forward, bracing both arms next to my head. The languid slide of his body against mine is exquisite. And because I'm not afraid this is the last time I'll ever have him, I take my time reacquainting myself with his very perfect physique.

Each push forward and each retreat is slow and deliberate so that every tiny movement of his shaft inside me registers. The head drags against the softest, most sensitive tissue, eking out more pleasure than I think possible.

I rub heels against his calves, the wiry hair scratching against the soles of my feet. His shoulders tense under my hands and his biceps flex with each measured thrust inside my body.

“I love you.” I turn and press my mouth against one of those flexing muscles. “I love you,” I repeat. I say the words again and again, punctuated by kisses. He growls above me, the cage of his arms shaking with his effort to stave off his own orgasm.

But he’s a world-class athlete, and he uses whatever mind over matter voodoo lets him forget pain during a game to hold off the fire that licks over his body. He employs his strength and unmatchable endurance to work me into an utterly mindless frenzy, where all I know is sensation, pleasure, and never-ending joy.

His head dips to sip at my mouth. His tongue tastes my happiness and swallows my moans of delight. With hardly a break in rhythm, he pulls out and turns me over until I rest on my knees.

When he slides back in, a harsh groan breaks into the silence, punctuated only by our wracked and uneven breathing.

His hand curves over my bottom, lifting me off my knees until all my weight rests on my elbows. He takes me then, with furious strokes. His need has overwhelmed him, to my great enjoyment. I push back with whatever strength I have in me, but his hands clamp on my hips, holding me still as he hammers inside me.

I give myself over to his dominance. His wildness feeds my own until I barely know where he ends and I begin. We are one, infused with the same euphoria, possessed by the same need, bound together by the same love.

He releases one hip and dips between my legs to pluck at my clit until I explode around him.

“Yes, that’s it.” His voice cracks, loaded down by his hunger. “Come for me.”

I do. I convulse around him, hugging his shaft with tiny tremors until I feel him release inside me, filling me, completing me. I give myself to feeling and let it carry me away until all I know is him.

I barely register him pulling out, the warm wet of him on my thighs. He covers me with a blanket and then pads lightly to the bathroom. I hear a toilet flushing and then running water. I should clean up, but I’m too exhausted, too replete.

He returns and does it for me. My eyes flick open to see him running a dampened towel between my legs. He gives me a tender smile and leans down to kiss the freshly washed skin. From a suitcase that I didn’t notice before resting against the wall, he pulls out a new pair of panties and slides it up my legs. I raise my butt.

“You kept all my T-shirts?” he asks with a sly grin. He must have helped pack my things.

“Of course.” If I had energy, I’d roll my eyes.

He chuckles low and I hug myself at the happy sound. Knox pulls back the covers and climbs in, taking up the position against the wall. I burrow into him, pushing my butt into his groin and laying my head on his biceps.

“Hammer’s submitting an article to an online woman’s magazine about how sperm is good for a woman’s body. Think it’ll be accepted?” His hand strokes leisurely down my side.

“I’m scared for womankind,” I answer sleepily.

“But kind of curious?” He presses a kiss against the crown of my head.

“Scared.” But yeah, kind of curious. I drift off to sleep, full of contentment.

37 Knox

Game Day: Warriors 11-1

The atmosphere in the locker room consists of subdued hope. We’re one game away from ending the season with only one loss. We win today and we’re in the conference championships which is one step closer to our goal of a National Championship.

Coach has called reporters, analysts, and other coaches, making the case that we belong in the playoffs. The selection committee isn’t bound by the polls that have us ranked seven. They make their own decisions. Today we give the selection committee every reason to place us in the top four.

Beneath the dry fit T-shirt, the pads, and the jersey, my heart beats double time.

I get up on a bench and wait for Matty to pull his headphones out. For Hammer to stop texting. For Ace to gather up the offense.

When the room falls silent, I raise my helmet above my head. “We started this season with one goal—for a chance to play for a title. That goal still exists. For some, this is the last home game we play.”

Somewhere in the crowd I hear a gasp. Not everyone knows I planned to declare. It’ll be out there soon enough, but what’s said in the locker room stays here.

“We’ll never step foot on Union Field wearing the Warrior’s uniform. Our locker will hold someone else’s uniform. Our time here will become a memory.” I tap my helmet against my head.

The team looks at me with rapt attention.

I don’t say anything for a few moments because I need to take one—one last time. Even if we win today, this might be the last time I wear the gold and blue. It’s been a crazy, exhilarating, mind blowing, heart aching, unforgettable three years. I’m not leaving without a fight. I’m ready to lay everything I have out on that field.

“Every second on that field, we have a choice. We can play together as one unit, one machine, one heart. If we do that, no matter the outcome, we will have met our goal. Today I plan to play as if I will never get to play again. If I am still standing at the end of the game, I have not tried hard enough. Men!” I call sharply. “This is my heart. My will. My desire.”