All Lined Up

Her fingers are warm on my bare shoulders, and she sighs at the contact. She moves both hands to my right shoulder, and starts working the tight muscles. I groan and drop my head down, resting my forehead against her stomach. She kneads at my shoulder, skating down to my biceps on occasion, her fingers strong and sure. I close my eyes, and try to keep from getting too worked up. I try for about a minute before I give up and let my hands slide down from her hips to her thighs. Her breathing picks up as I run my palms up and down, curling my fingers around the backs of her legs.

I don’t push any further than that, though, letting her stay in control. And she’s completely in control when she pushes me back on my unmade bed and straddles my hips. She runs her hands up my abdomen, first soft and then harder, pushing on my muscles there like she did at my shoulder. I let her explore my chest while every ounce of blood in my body heads south. She leans down and presses a kiss on my sternum. She hovers there, her hot breath making all my muscles tense. She drags her mouth from the center of my chest to where my heart beats wildly beneath my skin. Her tongue peeks out tentatively as she does, and I fist my hands in my sheets to keep from grabbing her and flipping us over.

She looks up at me, her pupils deep and black. “Not sex. But maybe we could . . . Maybe we could do other things?”

I growl and roll her beneath me, pressing my hips down into hers. She moans, and with her stretchy pants and my gym shorts, I can feel the heat of her through the thin material.

“Other things sound pretty damn perfect.”

Chapter 24

Dallas

Kissing Carson McClain has officially become my favorite hobby.

His lips are soft even though he kisses me hard. I curl my legs around him, and a masculine noise of approval sounds in his chest. I thread my fingers through his hair, and my blood is rushing so fast that my limbs feel both light and heavy at the same time.

His lips leave mine to slide over my jaw, and the rasp of his stubble sends shivers down my spine. His elbows rest on either side of me, and his hands slide under me to curl around my shoulders. The heat of his breath touches my neck before his lips do, and I grip his hair tight.

I lean my head to the side to give him more room, and his lips burn a line down to my collarbone. Then he dips lower, down to the top of my strappy camisole. His hands smooth from my shoulders down to my ribs as he skims his lips over the curve of my breast peeking just above the fabric. He places a kiss on my sternum, and I shift my hands from his hair to the bare skin of his shoulders.

“Carson,” I breathe.

His eyes lift to mine, hooded, dark, and questioning. I don’t know what I was planning to say or that I had anything to say at all. I just needed to say his name. I let my fingertips travel down his back as far as they can reach, playing over the taut muscles and warm skin.

He surges back up to take my mouth in a bruising kiss, shifting to lie beside me as he does. When his hand slides along the waistband of my yoga pants, I’m not sure whether I want to lock up or arch into his touch.

He pulls back to look at me, and though I’m mildly terrified, I don’t close my eyes. His gaze roams my face as his fingers slide beneath the fabric into a territory we’ve not covered yet.

He’s slow, waiting for me to say no, I think. But no matter how many pieces of me want to say no, there are far more begging me to say yes.

His fingers slide against me, teasing sensitive flesh. He pushes one long finger into me, grinding the heel of his hand down at the same time, and I dig my nails into his muscled shoulders. I tilt my hips up, moving on his finger, and he moans.

“God, Dallas, if you only knew how much I wanted you.”

I slip a hand between us, finding the hard ridge of him through the fabric of his shorts, and he hisses out a breath.

“I’ve got some idea.”

His mouth covers mine—wild and hot and greedy—and he bites down on my bottom lip at the same time that his finger curls inside of me. I arch up, lost in the sensation, and his mouth moves down to my chest. I feel another graze of his teeth and squeeze his length in response.

“Oh f**k, baby.” His gruff words, spoken against the sensitive skin of my breast, make the heat between my legs turn molten.

This . . . this I can handle. His sure, sensuous touch. Tendrils of a new kind of trust.

I pull him up to me for another kiss, and together we spend time exploring, touching, and tasting before exhaustion takes us.

IN THE WEEK before the team’s next game, the entire university transforms. There’s red and black everywhere—banners and T-shirts and signs and sidewalk chalk. The energy is electric and powerful, and I can see the way it changes Carson. He’s tired. He’s been putting in crazy hours all week—on the field and with his tutors. I’ve spent almost every night at his apartment because otherwise, I’m not sure I’d get to see him. But even through the fatigue, he wears a constant smile, and I think that finally he’s beginning to believe in himself.

It’s our last game before homecoming, and then we’ve got three away games in a row. When the buzzer sounds and we’ve won by fourteen, the student section of the stadium pours down from the bleachers, and fills the field with red and black. Some overzealous fans make a dash for the goal posts, but the crew is already busy collapsing them before they can get there. Instead, everyone just stands there screaming and shouting like we’ve won a national championship.

It’s not that. But it is an upset, and not by a small margin either. It’s a solid win, and the fans aren’t the only ones that are ecstatic. I stay in the stands because I still haven’t told Dad about Carson, but I watch him on the field. He smiles widely, sharing crushing hugs with player after player before finally my dad stands in front of him.