Everyone who works within the New York Warriors organization knows that star player August Fletcher refuses to talk to most people...and especially team reporters. All except Quinn Castle, that is.
Quinn doesn't know why the broody football player...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
RECLINED ON THE bed, I pushed onto my elbows and looked up at August as he stood at the end of it, appreciating the view.
His chest heaved as he raked his fingers through his damp hair, slicking it back from his face. Every movement made his muscles shift and tightened deliciously, and my mouth ran dry. Especially when my eyes fell on his erection tenting his shorts–the proof that he was, indeed, a grower.
Goddamn.
My body pulsed with the thought of getting to touch him. With the thought of feeling him inside me. Of feeling that inside me.
It didn't matter that he'd already made me see stars; I wanted him. He'd been setting off flutters inside my body for as long as I could remember, and now they were out of control. This feeling, the way my heart thumped in my chest, and my core pulsed with the need for more–it was out of control.
And I suspected August knew it. The smirk on his face told me everything.
"You want more, don't you?"
Unable to find words, I nodded.
His smirk grew as he slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of me. His hands slid up the outside of my legs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They stopped at my hips, his fingers toying with the ties holding together my bikini bottoms.
"Can I strip these off you?" he asked, his voice full of husk that set off more butterflies in my stomach.
Once again, I nodded, and August's eyes flared. It was almost as if he hadn't really expected me to say yes. Which was ridiculous considering how I'd just practically begged him to finger me.
"God, I can't wait to see what kind of mess I made of your pretty pussy, Castle."
Flutters–more flutters, so many flutters.
August Fletcher had a mouth on him. It both shocked me and made me realize I should have expected it. Because he was the kind of man who only spoke when he felt like he had something to say, and damn, did he have things to say today. Right now. On this boat and in this bed.
"Are you going to clean it up for me?" I asked breathlessly.
"Fuck yeah, I am," he said, but he was barely paying attention to what I'd said. All his focus was on my body as he hooked his fingers into my bottoms and slid them down. I lifted my hips to help him, and soon, they were on the floor.
Instinctively, I spread my legs, not feeling the least bit shy. Not when August looked at me like that, when he talked like that. When he was acting like this.
He swore under his breath before lowering his lips to my inner thigh, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my skin in an ascending line. As he got higher, his tongue lashed out, licking up traces of arousal left between my legs from what had just happened a few minutes ago.
