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She’d believed in me since the first day I’d told her that I was going to be a football player when I grew up. She supported me and showed up for me.
That was what people should be asking about.
“How does this work? We meet once a day? You torture me in a workout and then I get to ask three questions?”
“Correct.”
“Okay. What time tomorrow?” she asked, reaching up to tighten the elastic on her ponytail. Her face was free of makeup, and her skin shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the kitchen windows. Her shirt rose the slightest bit, a sliver of her toned stomach peeked out, and my dick hardened again. I was going to have to figure something out about that situation because my body had a physical reaction to this woman, which was not common for me.
But Brinkley Reynolds’ presence had me a little off my game.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to run and swim. So, meet me here, and bring your swimsuit. We’ll do a run and then swim a mile, and then you can ask me three more questions.”
“You’re just planning to exhaust me so I can’t ask much, aren’t you?”
“Nah. You’ll be fine.”
“Damn right.”
“Good to know. Let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home. Plan to be here at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow. Get your questions ready. You didn’t find anything out today that you didn’t already know.” I smirked.
“We didn’t know your grandfather bought you your first football,” she said as she glared at me. “I’m pacing myself, Captain. You’ve limited my normal form of questioning, so forgive me if it takes me a minute to get on board with your weird freaking interview process.”
I chuckled as I grabbed my keys, and we walked outside before she slipped into the passenger seat. She was quiet in the car, and I figured she was tired. When I pulled up in front of her house, I put the car in park. “Get some rest, sweetheart. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”
“I’ll probably go do another workout today. That was nothing for me.” She shrugged as I stepped out of the car and came around to her side, but she was already getting out. “You don’t need to open my door. I’m quite capable.”
I shrugged. “It’s a habit. My mother is a stickler for that shit.”
“Like I said… you’re some sort of rude gentleman.”
“I guess I am. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You will.” She held her hand up, and this time, she didn’t flip me off. She waved. And I stood there like some sort of creeper, watching her move up the walkway to her door.
I quickly pulled my eyes from staring at her ass and got back in my car.
I drove back home and headed straight for the shower.
My head fell against the marble wall, and I gripped my dick.
I needed some relief.
I closed my eyes as I slid my hand up and down my engorged shaft. Hot water pelted my back, and thoughts of Brinkley Reynolds writhing beneath me flooded my thoughts.
My lips gliding down her silky skin.
Over the column of her narrow neck.
Licking and sucking.
My hands covering those perfect tits before I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my waist.
I imagined driving into her over and over and her head falling back as she rode my cock.
And I went right over the edge.
We may not be able to stand one another for long, but there was no doubt we’d fuck like rock stars.
