Page 66 of Elevator Pitch

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart.”

He barely finishes his command and I draw him into my mouth, unable to take the full length of him.

“Fuck.” His curse is a soft plea, a strained prayer, and I honor him by hollowing my cheeks and dragging up and down his length, twirling my tongue and further teasing him.

Not much time passes, before his fingers curl into my hair, gently forcing me to release him.

“Enough, Vee, or I’ll spend down your throat when I want to go off inside you.”

We should probably discuss what that means, but then I understand why he was stretching over me. His wallet is on the nightstand, and he’s prepared for this moment. Once a gold packet is retrieved, he clambers back over me, settling on his knees between my spread thighs. His towel is long forgotten.

I watch as he rolls on the protection, not certain I’ve ever witnessed a man do such a thing. As he handles himself, my channel clenches, greedy for him, anticipating him inside me. When he finishes covering himself, he glances at me.

“Gotta say, fuckin’ you while you’re wearing that jersey is a dream.”

I gaze down at myself. Jersey spread open, bra on display. He reaches around me and unfastens the clasp at my back.

“Do that trick where you take it off without removing the jersey.”

With a wiggle of my arms, and a tug and a pull, I’m braless while the jersey remains. Ross falls to his arm, braced above me, while he lowers his mouth to a breast and his other hand holds himself lined up at my entrance. His tongue twirls around my nipple while I cup his head, combing my fingers through his hair.

Then he bites my nipple and thrusts inward.

I lurch upward, taking him to the hilt and clutching at him. “Ross,” I gasp, startled by the sting, the shove, and the sudden rush of my libido.

Filling me, Ross pauses and glances down at where he’s entered me. “I’ve been fantasizing about this moment for weeks.”

“For weeks?”

“Every day. Every night. Sleeping beside you has been heaven and hell.” He pulls back then rushes forward again.

“But this. This right here is next level.” He exhales and stills, using his arms to support him above me. Then he rolls his hips in a way that his pubic bone rubs against my clit, winding me up and up and up again. My legs are spread as wide as they can, my clit presses against him, loving the friction, the spiral, the build.

“Ross.” My breath catches once more. I don’t typically let go in this position, but the weight of him over me, the warmth, the pressure, and I’m suddenly on the verge of that floating sensation once again.

With my hands on his shoulder blades, pressing at him as if I want him to collapse on top of me, I clutch and claw until the flutters release, the relief sharp and quick, but no less intense than the first time.

I cry out his name.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, going wild now that I’ve been reckless. He moves back and forth, rushing in, while teasing to pull out. Then he stills and every jolt, every flinch, I feel buried within me.

A vein on his neck strains. His heart hammers. My name is a sweet cry. “Verona.”

Then he collapses over me, blanketing me.

Memories flash through my head. A warm jacket on a rainy day. An apology kiss against my neck. A camera flash and a captured moment.

Ross Davis will always be all these things to me and now this.

If only I could keep him.

Chapter 22

April

Regular Season

[Ross]