That One Night: A Pucking Around Prequel Novella (Jacksonville Rays)
That One Night: Chapter 6

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a more beautiful human. It’s not just his physical beauty. Don’t get me wrong, watching his muscles ripple as he tugs off his shirt is like seeing poetry in action. I want him on top of me, all around me. I want to feel the strength of those muscles working to bring me pleasure.

But his beauty goes so much deeper. He has a beautiful soul.

He drops to his knees at the side of the bed and snatches both my ankles. I gasp as he jerks me forward, dragging me to the edge. He flips my knees over his shoulders and looks up at me, his hazel eyes hooded with lust. His warm breath fans against my clit as he says, “Don’t be shy, baby. Let me know if I’m doing something you like.”

Before I can reply, his mouth is on me, that talented tongue swiping over my clit. I sigh with relief, sinking back onto the bed. I take a deep breath, letting my legs fall open as he goes down.

“That feels good,” I tell him. “Don’t stop—”

This man holds nothing back. I don’t think he knows how. If he’s in, he’s all in. I can only imagine the level of concentration and professionalism he brings to his game. He ravages me with his tongue, flicking and sucking, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me press against him, desperate for more.

My first orgasm coils tight in my core. God, he’s good. I’m right there, and it’s been all of two minutes. That warming feeling spreads out from my clit until my whole body is humming. I feel it down to my toes.

“Oh god—so good—right there—more—”

He presses in with two fingers, his tongue working double time against my clit, and I’m gone. I arch my back, hands fisting the sheets, muttering nonsense as I tip over the edge. My pussy clenches tight around his fingers, and he groans with longing, rubbing just right along my front vaginal wall. Meanwhile, my clit vibrates, the waves of my orgasm crashing against me.

In moments I go limp, my body shaky and warm as I come down.

He slides his fingers out of me, leaning up over me with need in his eyes, his face still buried between my legs. “Suck,” he says, his wet fingers tracing my lips.

My core flutters as I curl forward, sucking his fingers into my mouth. I taste my own release, tangy and warm.

“What a good fucking girl,” he croons.

I shiver. I typically like to be the one giving the praise, but coming from this sweetheart, it feels dirty and I love it. I love being his good girl. I love earning his praise. I want more.

I flip my legs off his shoulders and sit up.

“Was that good for you?” he asks, his dark brows raised in eagerness.

His earnest, puppy dog look is too much. I cup his face with both hands and pull him forward, pressing my mouth to his. I don’t care that his lips are still wet with my release. In fact, it turns me on. He tastes like me. Even if only for one night, this beautiful man is mine.

I break our kiss, brushing his hair off his brow. “Tell me something,” I murmur. “Anything.”

His smile lights him up inside as he kisses my chin, my cheek. “I play defense,” he replies, leaving it there. It’s enough to confirm my pro athlete suspicion, but not too much to give away his sport or his team. Our anonymity remains intact.

I mean, if I wanted to I could google all the pro sports teams and look for him, but that feels like breaking the rules. I decide to offer him another crumb. “I already knew that.”

He stills, keeping his hands on my breasts as he lifts his mouth off my chest. “What—how?”

I smile, kissing the tip of his nose. “I read it all over your body the second I laid eyes on you.” At his look of confusion I add, “My specialty is sports medicine.”

His eyes go wide. “Oh, shit—do you work for a team? Which one—”

“Ah-ah.” I place two fingers over his lips. “No more job talk. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep having sex.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes, as he rocks back on his heels and stands. The new angle puts me at face level with the massive bulge in his boxer briefs. “Oh, yeah? And what does my dirty-talking Mystery Girl want next?” he asks, his fingers combing through my tousled hair.

My hands are already smoothing up his thighs, brushing the bottom hem of his briefs. He groans, his hand tightening in my hair. I drag with my nails over the fabric up to his hipbones and he lets out a shiver. “Don’t play with me, baby girl. I’ll happily stay in this room giving you what you need all night. I’ll eat that pussy like it’s my goddamn job. Say the word, and I won’t get off my knees.”

I can’t hide my smile. See? He’s a giver. Apparently, he’s a talker too, and I’m here for it. My greedy pussy squeezes tight with excitement as my fingers brush over the waistband of his briefs, giving them a playful tug. “And if I want more than your mouth?”

He groans again, fisting my hair tight. He tips my head back, gazing down at me. “When these briefs come off, it’s all over. You don’t know the meaning of the word stamina until you’ve been with me. I will fuck you senseless and you’ll beg me for more.”

Oh, thank god.

I tug at his briefs again, ready to see him unleashed, but he stops me, both hands grabbing my wrists.

“Wait—tell me again you want this,” he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Tell me you want…me.” He almost winces once the words are out, his hands loosening on my wrists. I don’t think he meant to say that out loud.

I sit back, looking up at him, my hands still on his hips. I feel him like he’s part of me. I feel his excitement, his nerves, his need. There’s no way this sweet golden retriever isn’t a ladies’ man. He’s way too talented for this to be his first time. No, everything about him screams experience.

So why the nerves? Why this hesitation? From the moment we paid the bill, he’s been putting up speed bumps, when all I wanted to do was drive us at 100mph straight to Pound Town. I study him, my mind racing. This is different for him somehow. Why is he doubting if I want him? At what point have I given him that impression?

Then it hits me.

He’s never done this before.

Oh, I’m sure he’s done hookups. What pro athlete hasn’t taken advantage at some point in their career? Women quite literally throw themselves at these men every day of the week. But when they do, they know who the men are…or at least, they know their number, their position, their salaries and signing bonuses.

The more aggressive girls will even know their stats—and I’m not talking about their playing stats. Some of these crazies run entire websites dedicated to a player’s hookups. They’ll share info on what he likes. Does his cock have a kink in it? Does he like his girls shaved or natural? Does he go down?

It’s demeaning and gross, but it’s part of the life. The guys just have to get used to it and learn to be really careful. The groupies don’t care about the athletes. They only care about getting what they want—a few days or weeks of being pampered, some free gifts, access to exclusive clubs and parties.

Is that what he thinks this is for me? Am I using him like a groupie?

No way.

I don’t know his name or his sport. I don’t know his salary. And I’m not asking for anything. I would never do that. Hell, I’m still in bimonthly therapy from being raised in a similar environment. That’s what happens when your father is a world-famous rock star. Just one more reason I like my anonymity when it comes to my hookups. We still share a last name, and the press can be relentless and cruel. I’ve learned the hard way how to keep my head down and avoid all that spotlight-sharing bullshit.

I glance back up at the beautiful man standing so close to me. He wants me. He wants this. But he wants more. He doesn’t want to be used. And he’s feeling out of control. I’ve been the one driving this car from the start.

Oh god, he feels like the groupie.

He didn’t go up to the bar looking for a hookup. He went to get a drink and to feel sad about missing his sister. He’s only here now because he couldn’t avoid my pull, just like I couldn’t avoid his.

I stand, running my hands up his sides, resting them on his shoulders. “Look at me.”

He looks down, need and hesitation swirling in his hazel eyes.

“I want you,” I whisper. “Not for your fame or your name. If anything, fame sends me running. It doesn’t reel me in. And this isn’t about your body or me getting a quick fuck,” I add. “Maybe it started that way for like two seconds up at the bar,” I admit. “I was lonely and sad about some news I got today. But now I want you here because you’re kind and funny. I want you here because I feel a connection to you.”

I step closer, my tits brushing his bare chest as I splay my hand over his heart, feeling his strong heartbeat. I reach for his hand too, placing it over my heart. I close my eyes, letting my heart beat under his palm. “Do you feel that?” I murmur.

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel the synchronicity? We’re beating in time. I feel locked in with you—”

“I feel it too,” he says. “From the moment you turned around on that barstool, I’ve been kinda freaking out. I don’t do this. I don’t—I don’t do feelings with hookups,” he adds awkwardly. “I—this is crazy. I feel like I’ve got a lit firework in my chest.” He leans in, cupping my cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing over my parted lips. “Who the fuck are you?”

We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before I reply. “You already know me, I think…don’t you?”

He nods, his gaze softening. “Yeah…yeah, I think maybe I do.”

That truth settles between us. We know each other. Not in any real sense, obviously. We’re two nameless strangers. But we know each other all the same. Sometimes people enter your life and it’s a meeting. But sometimes, it’s a meeting again. Déjà vu. Soul recognition. Whatever it is, we have it.

I know him. I’m safe with him. I want him.

I sink back down onto the edge of the bed and scoot back. He follows me, crawling over me with ease, the muscles in his arms taut as he braces himself. He sinks into the cradle of my hips, his hard length still trapped behind a layer of fabric. Hands on his shoulders, I pull him down with me.

Our lips meet in another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, but just as starved. I’d be content just to kiss him for the rest of the night. A great make-out session can be more intimate than sex. Thank god he seems to want more.

We work each other up as we explore with our hands. I’m no dainty, size two plastic groupie. I’ve got curves and I love them. Freckles, cellulite, scars. He seems more than happy with my body, gripping me under the thigh to spread me wider, pressing in with his hips. His hard cock grinds against my clit, the friction from his briefs rough and delicious.

I fight a shiver, heat building in my core. That empty ache is growing. I need to be filled. I want him inside me. Too curious for my own good, I slide a hand down his marble-sculpted chest, brushing my fingertips down the little trail of dark hair on his stomach that leads to the top of his briefs.

He knows what I want, and he tips up his hips, not breaking our kiss. I flip my hand, slipping it inside his briefs. My hand wraps around his impressive length and he groans, biting at my bottom lip.

“Fuck—yes, touch it,” he says against my mouth. “Feel all of me. Take me in, baby.”

I sigh, stroking him from root to tip with an eager hand. He’s thick and long, his skin velvety smooth. He’s going to feel so good inside me. I can hardly bear to wait. My pussy is more than ready for round two.

I pull on his briefs, sliding them down his hips, freeing his length. He rolls to his side, stripping the briefs off and tossing them to the floor. His thick thighs are nothing but muscle, dusted with dark hair. His calves are just the same, long and sculpted.

My gaze settles on his hard cock, and I’m reminded all over again that I am so deliciously straight. Fuck, I love cock. I’m literally salivating at the sight of him right now. I need to taste, need to learn what he likes. Before he can pin me down again, I roll onto my elbow, scooting down the bed, eager to taste him.

He stays on his back, stretched out and waiting, totally at ease with me. He’s got one arm tucked behind his head and the other in my hair. I roll up to my hands and knees, letting myself appreciate him for another second before I sink my mouth around his tip.

“Fuck—good girl. Suck me,” he groans, one leg sliding up until his foot is planted on the bed. The other relaxes, his hip flexors rotating to open himself up for me.

I eagerly tease him, licking and sucking, running my tongue around his tip. My hand stays firm around his thick base.

“Don’t play with me,” he growls, his hand tightening in my hair. “Show me what that mouth can do. Own me, baby girl. Take me deep.”

I happily comply, relaxing as I swallow him, feeling him there at the back of my throat. I suck, not caring that I’m making slurping noises.

“You feel amazing,” he croons, his hand gentle in my hair.

And he tastes amazing, smells amazing. I’m drowning in him. His cologne must be a body wash because he smells that good everywhere. It lingers on his skin. His scent alone is making me hornier. It’s warm and luxurious, woodsy, and so masculine.

God, this scent is my catnip.

My pussynip, comes the stupid thought. And now I’m snorting around his perfect cock, choking myself as I laugh at my own joke.

He stiffens, pulling my hair gently. “Hey—are you laughing?”

I pop off him, eyes watering as I shake my head, biting my lip.

But he can read me so well already. With a growl, he snatches me by the shoulders and drags me up his body, rolling us until he’s back between the cradle of my legs. “You think something’s funny?”

“No—” I shake my head, gasping as he grabs my thighs, spreading me wide.

His eyes are molten, the hazel all but swallowed by the black of his pupils. He rocks against me, his cock slick with my saliva as it slides over my slippery clit. God, I’m so wet for him.

We both groan. I fight a shiver, moving my leg to give me the right angle on friction as he grinds against me.

“Care to share with the team why you were laughing with your mouth on my dick?” he says, his voice dangerously low. “I think I need to fuck that mouth harder. Shove down your throat until you gag.”

I shake my head, core fluttering at his words. “No—I mean, yes,” I add with a vixen’s grin. “But no. I was just…god, you just smell so fucking good,” I admit on a breathy sigh.

He chuckles, dropping his nose to my neck as he breathes me in. “You do too, baby.”

“No, like you really smell good,” I say. “It clings to every inch of your skin and it’s turning me on so much. I feel…ravenous. In my head I said it was like my catnip.”

He hums his agreement, his tongue tracing up my neck to nip me earlobe. At the same time, his hand snakes between us and he shoves two thick fingers inside my cunt. “More like your pussynip,” he murmurs with his own laugh, and I swear to all the gods, I’ve just fallen in love with this man.

I still beneath him, seeking out his gaze. He meets me. His lips are parted, glistening with my kisses. “Who are you?” I whisper.

He stills too. “Wait…for real? Is the game over? Are we sharing names and tragic backstories now?”

I shake my head, one leg wrapping around him until my heel is digging into his ass. “Please don’t stop,” I whisper. “I need you. Please. Need to feel you. Need you in me.”

He sinks back over me. “Oh baby, I’ll never stop,” he soothes. “You’re mine. All fucking mine.” He rocks against me, lifting my leg to get the right angle as he presses in with the tip of his cock.

I’m so ready to feel him fill me up. I want him touching every part of me inside and out, body and soul. Even if all we have is tonight, I know I’ll never unhook this man from my essence. I know he feels it too.

But then he stills. “Shit—baby—fuck—” He pulls away with an almost painful whimper.

I gasp, reaching for him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have a condom.”