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...
Ops! Esta imagem não segue nossas diretrizes de conteúdo. Para continuar a publicação, tente removê-la ou carregar outra.
I KNEELED BESIDE AUGUST, processing if he'd really said what I thought he said.
But then he confirmed it when he grunted, "Castle, if you don't sit on my face, I'll have to get on my knees for you instead."
"Your knees–" I broke off, shaking my head with incredulity. This man. "You're not doing anything on your knees, August Fletcher."
"You're right." He released his hold on my hair and let his hand trail down my body, slipping beneath my shirt. His fingers gripped my hip with a command that made my pulse hike higher. "Because you're going to be a good girl and ride my face."
I groaned, knowing I was going to give in. How could I not when he talked like that, looked like that, and left me dying for a release?
"Come on, Castle," he murmured as his thumb moved in circles around my hip. I wasn't sure what it was about that little movement, but it was making me absolutely melt. "I already miss the taste of you."
I met August's bright gaze. It was sated but hungry at the same time, and I was reminded of yesterday when he made it more than clear that he didn't want to rush anything when he was between my legs.
"All those sweet sounds you make," he continued, drowning me with his soft, husky voice. "I miss those too."
He really did want this, didn't he? He wasn't doing it just to make me happy or to be a goddamn gentleman and pay me back. No, he wanted it.
"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours," I teased, falling back on humor because I was overwhelmed with how he was making me feel.
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I'd think you'd understand, considering the way that you begged me for more only minutes after I made you come for the first time."
Fuck, he was right. That did happen on the boat. He knew it, I knew it, we both knew how badly we wanted each other.
"Can I touch you?" he asked, still talking in that sinfully soft voice.
Speechless, I nodded, and August's fingers trailed from my hips to my thighs to between my legs. My body began to shake in anticipation, quivering beneath his feathery touch. All of my brazenness from minutes earlier when I'd had him in my mouth was gone; he was reducing me to nothing with the tiniest of touches. I couldn't move, couldn't talk. I just needed to feel. Him.
"You're shaking, baby," he breathed as one finger slowly slid between my legs, gliding over my clit in a way that made me whimper. "Let me take care of you like you took care of me."
"Yes," I moaned, my eyelids fluttering as August played with my clit. It was different than yesterday. Gentle, almost. Like he wasn't trying to get me off. Like he was trying to–
"Get up here."
God, he knew what he was doing, didn't he?
Unable to deny him what he wanted–and what I wanted–any longer, I straddled August with shaky legs. His brown gaze watched me hungrily, his lips twisting in a cocky smirk.
