Page 58 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
“Get on me,” I tell her.
“If you insist.”
I open the condom wrapper, then slide on the protection. She straddles me, then rises, takes my shaft in her hand, and rubs the head against her wetness.
“That’s so fucking good,” I groan.
Her shoulders shudder. “It’s the best.”
She keeps up the rhythm, rubbing, pressing, preparing.
And then she brings the head of my cock inside her.
I’m rewarded with a gasp.
A sexy intake of breath.
When she lowers herself onto my length, I want to freeze time.
I want to live in the exquisite torture of this moment, of the mind-bending pleasure of this intimacy.
She takes me in deeper. A lightning bolt of pleasure cracks inside me. Her heat envelops my shaft. Lust sparks across my skin as I indulge in the sight in front of me, like a series of snapshots of sensations.
Her noises.
Her trembles.
Her sexy fucking body.
Her tits bouncing.
Her hands as she parks them on my chest.
All of it is so intense, so electric.
The world spirals away once more as she seeks her friction, hunts down her pleasure, uses my body to find her bliss.
“That’s right. Keep doing that, beautiful. Ride me so hard.”
“Mmm. This feels so good. I think I love this position more.”
I growl, pleasure zapping through me, as I pump up into her. “Let me make you feel fantastic,” I say, gripping her hips, helping her along.
I’ve learned a little help goes a long way with her, so I bring my thumb between her legs, gliding it over her hard clit. She moans, gripping my chest even harder, riding me faster, finding the pace that she wants as her body seeks release.
And that—that I can give her unequivocally.
No lines. Nothing held back. Everything she deserves.
I take her there, rubbing and stroking and fucking up into her until she shatters, bursting into pleasure as she calls out my name.
I follow her over the cliff, succumbing to the ecstasy of my own orgasm, then holding her close, wrapping my arms around her, and kissing her like this is the only time.
And I’m pretty sure it is.
After a shower, she puts on her clothes, and I tug on mine, getting ready for the ballpark.
She gathers her purse, slips on her jacket, and walks to the door.
A heaviness descends, the sharp reality that this perfect day is drawing to a close.
She flashes me a go get ’em, slugger grin. “Good luck tonight against the Miami Aces.” She raises a finger, her voice going intense. “And don’t forget, Diaz loves to hit screamers into the hole. You need to be on your guard when he’s at bat.”
I smile, loving that she knows her baseball. Loving that she wants to make sure I can field my position. “I’ll have my head in the game. Any other tips?”
She taps her chin, looking a little playful. “Their closer is one of the toughest in baseball. So if you’re up against him, just pray.”
“Excellent advice. And should I wink or something when I’m digging into my first at bat to let you know that I’m thinking of you?”
Her smile tap-dances across her face. “Yes. Do that,” she says, reaching for the knob.
I’m keenly aware that she is leaving.
Well, duh.
Of course she’s leaving. That’s why she’s at the motherfucking door.
But I’m keenly aware that I can’t do what I want to do, which is to ask her for more. Ask her to come to the game, to sit on the first baseline, to be there for me.
The same damn thing I wanted at the Legion of Honor.
An us.
I’m not a hookup guy. I don’t want a one-time thing. I want her in my life.
My stomach twists. “Reese?”
She turns. “Yes?”
“Can I call you again?” I ask stupidly.
So fucking stupidly.
I need to let her go, need to stop clutching at straws.
Just as she’s embarking on the next phase of her career, the last thing she needs is undue attention because of her private life.
I don’t want her to be subjected to social media bullshit, to the twisted way the press might spin us.
Not to mention, I have no fucking clue what Thompson might think. None whatsoever. Would he bench me? Drop me to ninth? Lobby for a trade?
No way of knowing.
I barely know him.
But I know this much—I don’t want to test his limits, not when my career is on a red-hot rise.
“Of course I want you to call.” She sighs, a sad sound. “But is that a good idea?”
My shoulders sag. “Does it push your limits?”
Her expression is serious, her voice soft as she answers, “It might. I want to talk to you, Holden. But I don’t want us to become the thing that the media talks about. Not when you’re trying to make this big change with the press.”
“And not when you’re trying to do all the things you’re doing. To change the world,” I say.
