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...
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"NOT SO FUCKING FAST."
I was only half-awake, but that didn't mean my reflexes weren't ready to go. They worked on autopilot where Quinn was involved, and I quickly wrapped a hand around her middle, tucking her back into my body before she could escape the bed.
"August," she groaned. "I have an interview I have to get ready for."
I planted a kiss on her shoulder as my hands roamed up her naked body, pausing to give an appreciative squeeze or two. Fuck, she always felt so goddamn good.
"It's online, right?" I asked gruffly, trying to keep my desire in check. It didn't matter that I'd been inside her only a handful of hours ago; it would never be enough. "It can't take you that long to get ready."
"I don't need Phoenix Jones seeing my sex hair," she laughed, lifting a hand to smooth down her messy morning hair.
"I'm okay with Jones knowing you're getting it good," I grunted. "And not by him."
"Oh, stop." Quinn reached behind her and smacked my arm. "First of all, I think the whole world knows you're giving it to me good at this point."
I smiled to myself, burying my face in her sweet-smelling, sex-tangled hair. Because yeah, that was probably the truth. After Quinn had released her article, confirming the gossip for what it was, our relationship hadn't been a secret. And I was damn okay with that.
Hundreds of photos of the two of us had been released since that day, most of them taken on our trip back to New York, where we spent a couple weeks properly packing Quinn's things, Eloise included, and making arrangements, and I hadn't bothered keeping my hands off her in public when I took her out on dates.
Even though most of her belongings were now scattered around the beach house, Quinn wanted to keep her apartment, which was fine with me. As long as she let me pay for it, which she eventually caved on—at least until she got her new business fully underway.
Which, by now, she had. In the six months since she released that article about me, Quinn had built her career in a different direction, a fully flourishing direction. But she hadn't brought up her apartment since then, and I wasn't going to remind her.
"Second of all," Quinn continued, "I don't think Phoenix gives a damn about my sex life."
I snorted and rolled my eyes even though she couldn't see me.
"He was totally flirting with you during your last interview."
"You were listening?" Quinn made a little noise of indignation that quickly turned into a moan when I started sucking a sensitive spot on her neck.
"The door to the office was open, and I caught a few bits as I was walking by," I admitted with a laugh.
As soon as Quinn had come up with the idea to launch her own media team, one that worked for the athletes instead of the corporations, I transformed one of our guest suites into an office suite. With the rate she was growing, I knew that she might have to relocate at some point, but for now, it meant that she could run her own business and chase her dreams right from our fucking beach house. It was perfect.
