“If you want to call it that. She didn’t even do it right, she hit my forehead with hers. I guess I have to be grateful she didn’t go for my nose. That wouldn’t have been pretty today.”
“Fuck, if she gave you a black eye from headbutting you, I would have asked for her autograph.”
“Thanks for the support dickhead.”
“Anytime.” He laughs. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“I have no clue.” I feel a headache coming on and try to rub it out with my fingers. “I asked her to dinner the other day after I took her to breakfast, kind of had to trick her into that, but she denied me. I don’t know, man, I’ve been off my game lately. My strokes are choppy, my mind isn’t in it, and all I can think about is why this girl won’t give in to the feelings I know she has.”
Hollis grows serious. “Reese, you leave for trials in two days. You can’t be fucking with your swimming right now.”
“You don’t think I don’t know that? I’m well aware of when trials are, as well as this being my last chance at gold. But fuck if I can’t get her out of my mind. It’s never been like this before. I feel like a foreigner in my body when I’m in the pool. I can’t get my cadence down, and my main sets have been shit.”
“Shit,” Hollis breathes out. “Have you talked to Coach Fern?”
“Hell, no,” I say quickly. “Hollis, we both know that would be a huge mistake. The man would rip me a new asshole for letting a girl affect my swimming. I’ve been with him since the beginning of my career, from the very start of our first practice together, when I was standing in front of him, knobby knees, barely able to fill out my Speedo. He told me if I wanted to be an Olympic swimmer, I had to take it seriously, and that meant girls were not to get in the way of my goals. Back then, it was no big deal, I was the scrawny kid no one wanted to talk to.”
“And what are you now, some dreamboat every girl wants to get their hands on?” Hollis laughs.
“Not every girl,” I mumble, just as my doorbell rings. “Hey, someone is at the door. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, but text me later, we’re not done with this conversation.”
“Later, Mom.”
I toss the phone on the couch and walk to my front door, praying it’s not Bellini. She loves showing up unexpected at night to “talk.” Her talking involves complaining about how her beauty is too much for the general population to accept, and that’s why people are so mean to her on Twitter and Instagram. Little does she know, it’s her actual personality that makes her so ugly.
Hoping there isn’t a rich blonde on the other side, I open the door and nearly drop my jaw to the floor when I see Paisley standing in front of me, twisting her hands in front of her nervously.
Surprised and excited, I extend one hand up the door jamb and lean against it. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How can I help you?”
Her eyes scan up and down my body, taking in my bare chest and towel-wrapped waist. Before she speaks, she clears her throat. “I forgot to give you some papers Bellini wants you to sign for the show.”
“Well, by all means, come in.” I step aside, allowing her space to walk under my arm and into my entryway.
The minute she’s in my house, I shut the door behind her and close in. She holds the files in front of her chest, eyes wide, and her lips wet from licking them.
Her back is pressed against the door and she looks almost frightened to be in my presence. Not in the way that I scare her, more like she’s scaring herself with her decision-making.
“Here.” She pushes the files between us, arms outstretched, creating a large gap. Grabbing the files, I toss them on the console in my entryway and close in on the space between us, not caring one bit about the paperwork she brought over.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
I don’t answer. I press my hands against the door, capturing her body between my muscled one. My hands rest by her narrow but toned shoulders, and I examine her reaction. My bottom half is pushed out just far enough that she has a good view of my flexing chest and barely covered torso.
It’s time to break down that cemented heart she’s erected around her feelings.
“Did you forget to hand me those files at the photo shoot because you were too busy staring at my dick, or was it because you wanted to see me tonight after staring at my dick for so long?”
Her eyes widen even farther. “I wasn’t staring.” She stumbles with her words.
I call her out. “Bullshit. I saw the way you looked at me, nibbling on that delectable lip of yours, eyes trained on my cock. Do you think I was posing like that for the camera? Fuck, no. I was giving you your own personal show, Paisley. And from my viewpoint, I knew you appreciated it.”
She is speechless as her chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.
I lean my head forward, the scruff of my cheek pressed against her smooth skin, my lips mere millimeters from her ear.
“Tell me I’m lying. Tell me you didn’t stare at my body that entire photo shoot.”
“You’re . . . you’re lying,” she says nervously, her hands at her side, her purse now on the ground.
“I don’t believe you, Paisley.” My breath is heavy against her ear as I say, “Just do it.”
She keeps her head forward, her chest moving rapidly, her sweet breath tickling my shoulder.
“Do what?” she asks.
I move my lips even closer so they dance with her ear. “Remove my towel. I know you’re thinking about it. I can feel it in the way your body reacts to mine, the way your fingers itch at your side. Remove. My. Towel.”
She doesn’t move, so I nip at her earlobe, causing a soft moan to escape her lips. Satisfied, I do it again, then move my lips to her neck, where I can feel goosebumps spread across her skin.
Kissing her softly, just a whisper of my lips caressing her, I say, “You’re making me lose my mind, Paisley. You’re all I can think about; all I dream about. You’re fucking with me on a daily basis. I’m not the same man when you’re around, and I’m half the man I normally am when you’re gone. I need you, Paisley.” I kiss her neck again and round my head to the front where she is forced to look me in the eyes. In a gruff tone, I say, “Take my towel off.”
Her eyes search mine, rapidly looking back and forth from one to another. Just when I think she’s going to push me away, she places her hands on my waist, her fingers slowly working their way under my towel. I hold my breath and wait, praying there will be no headbutts, flicking fingers, or abuse of any kind. Only pleasure.
**PAISLEY**
I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it’s closing in on itself, my lungs are collapsing, and little palpitations keep restarting my heart. I’ve never felt so alive. How is that even possible?
Reese is staring down at me, waiting for me to pull off his towel, begging me with his eyes to undress him. This isn’t what I expected when I came here. I was hoping he wasn’t going to be home. But to my dismay, he was, and fresh out of the shower, looking sexy as hell, muscles rippling with each and every movement he makes.
Did I stare at his package during the entire photo shoot? Pretty much. Except for the few seconds when took in his built body, the way his abs rippled, or how his tattoo going down his left arm captured the essence of his persona. The entire time he stood there, hand grabbing on to his neck, straining in the sexiest way possible, my stomach flipped with lust.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Believe me, if you were in my shoes, you would have done the same thing. It was impossible to look away. Every female in the vicinity stared, actually gawked, mouths agape, and beads of sweat forming on their upper lip. The entire photo shoot felt like something out of a dream, a very horny and inappropriate dream.
Now, I stand here, my hands on his hips, fingers dancing at the edge of his towel and a burning sensation running up my spine. I can’t remember the last time I was intimate with a man. I know it’s been a long time, but it’s because there hasn’t been a man that’s actually made me feel the way Reese makes my entire body shiver.
I can still feel the imprint of his lips on my neck, the nip of his teeth at my ear, the way his beard scratches against my cheek in the most delectable way possible. He is a tease, a bad influence, a poor decision when it comes to protecting my career, but why, for the hell of me, can’t I stop running my fingers across his skin?
Because I’m a masochist, because he’s everything I would ask for in a man. Kind, sweet, caring, sexy, athletic, rugged, and all alpha. He’s my kryptonite, a combination of everything I’ve ever wanted, I’ve ever dreamed of.
Taking a chance, I glance down at his torso, where his hardened length is pressing against the towel that barely hides his bulge. One shift to the right and I would be on the receiving end of a giant cock staring up at me.
Holy shit.
I look back up at him, and I’ve been caught. His grin widens, and his eyes darken.
“Fucking do it, Paisley. Take if off.” His voice is so heavy, so gritty that my pussy clenches from the sound of it.
The heat coming off him is palpable. His arms surround me, blocking me from moving away, and his eyes bore down, willing me to do what he’s asking, but should I? Every nerve ending radiating with lust is begging me to.
He leans his head forward some more and barely caresses my lips with his, running them along my jaw, sending chills all the way down my body until he reaches my ear once more.
“I’m about to explode, Paisley. End this misery for me and take my towel off.”
I can’t stop myself. The power of his words—of his body—of the electricity sparking between us—is too strong. My fingers dig all the way in his waistline and I remove his towel. I drop it on the ground but stare straight ahead, too scared to look down because of what I might do.
I don’t have time to react though, his left hand flies to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, and his lips fine mine, pressing deeply.
Everything fades into black the moment his mouth meets mine. He’s demanding, needy, desperate,
every
last emotion I’m feeling.
One hand props him up against the door as his other grips me tightly on the back of my head, as if he lets go, I’ll disappear. He’s completely naked in front of me—no shame—fucking my mouth with his tongue, letting me know how much he wants me.
I want to explode, right then and there. His deep kisses are throwing me into a downward spiral, arresting my breath, seizing my heart, and occupying every inch of my skin with desire-filled chills. He’s consuming me with just his mouth to the point that I feel myself evaporating, our bodies molding together as one.
“Jesus,” he mumbles, “you taste so sweet.”
From the back of my neck, his hand travels along my jaw where his thumb strokes my cheek tenderly. Seductively, he removes his lips from mine and then traces his thumb along them, his stare full of heat.
“Touch me, Paisley. Run your hands up and down my chest. Explore my body. I know you fucking want to.”
He is right. I want nothing more than to trace every ridge and divot in his abdomen, to feel his taut and toned skin under my fingers, to know what it’s like to grip his length in my hand, and make him lose all common sense by the pull of desire.
My entire body is tingling, there is a rapid thump in my core, begging me to proceed, to just take one peek down below, just this one.
Not answering him, I take a deep breath and glance at his erection, standing tall and thick, ready to be stroked.
Fuck me.
Losing all abandon, I float my hands behind his head and pull him closer to me, mingling our mouths together once more. He groans, pleased with my decision, and wraps his hand in my hair once again, yanking on the sensitive strands so my mouth is pulled open. He proceeds to crush his lips against mine, feeding off my intensity.
His hair is soft, thick, the curls wrap delicately around my fingers, while his beard is a complete contradiction, rough and unforgiving against my chin and my lips. I welcome the burn, the small abrasions, the rough to my soft.
I get lost in him, in his touch, in his aggressive mouth, in the little groans escaping his lips.
Needing more, I continue to let him take over my mouth while I move my hands south, to his erection that is pushing against my thigh. In one swoop, I capture his length in my palm, causing him to freeze in place and then melt against me.
He’s rigid, yet soft. His girth is thick, unyielding, and his length has me questioning the tiny Speedos he wears in a pool daily.
“Fuck . . . fuck,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing heavy.
Unsure of what I’m doing, but knowing I need to taste him, I slide down his body and drop to my knees. He’s propping his body against the door behind me, his feet spread now, welcoming my new position.
At eye level, I take in his cock, perfectly hard, straight with a slight curve leaning toward the sky, making my mouth water. He’s shaven, not bare, but short, showing that he still is a man, if I didn’t realize that already by the giant cock sitting in front of me.
“Paisley,” he groans.
Taking that as an indication of how impatient he is, I glide my hands up his thighs and grip his balls with my left, squeezing just enough that he shifts his stance. With my right hand, I grip the base of his cock and prop it up just enough for my tongue to run along his length.
The minute I taste him, my mind goes blank and my mouth takes over. I run my tongue along the underside of his cock, from the very top to the base, where I flick his squeezed balls.
“Christ.” I glance up to see one of his hands covering his face, his control slipping—one lick at a time.
Satisfied, I continue to lick my way back up to his tip, and circle the head, once, twice, three times and then descend my entire mouth over his dick, sucking him into the back of my throat, letting his length fill me.
“Jesus. Fuck, Paisley.”
I don’t let up. I’m relentless. I match every suck of his cock with a stroke of my hand—my mouth and hand work together in tandem—pumping Reese to the brink of his orgasm. His body straightens and he tangles himself in my hair, gripping me tightly.