Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
With a quick wave, she takes off and then I’m all alone.
Now that the locker room has emptied, the only sound that can be heard is the steady drip of the water from the showers. It echoes off the cement block walls and throughout the rectangular-shaped room. Contrary to what Demi claimed, I find it more soothing than creepy. I grew up in a loud, noisy family. It made me appreciate the quiet moments.
I strip out of my socks and shin pads before reaching around my back to unsnap my bra. Once it’s peeled away, I remove my underwear. The socks get tossed in the laundry bin, the sports bra and panties shoved in my locker to be taken home and washed.
With careful fingers, I pull the elastic band from my sweat-soaked hair and shake it out before scooping up my shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner. Then I pad into the tiled shower area. I grab the silver handle and turn it until the water is hot and steam is rising around me. Only then do I step under the spray, allowing it to rush over my body. After lathering up my hair, I scrub my fingers over my scalp. It’s a rosemary mint shampoo that makes my skin tingle. I close my eyes and inhale the calming scent. Every sore muscle loosens under the hot water. It feels so damn good. Conditioner is the next step in the process. While that sets, I lather up my body, washing away the dirt, sweat, and turf from the two-hour practice.
My eyelids feather closed as my mind wanders, going over the mental list that needs to be finished up this evening. I’m jerked out of those thoughts when strong hands reach around to cup my breasts. A scream builds in my throat as a hard body presses against me from behind.
Just as I’m about to release a deafening cry, a deep voice murmurs near the outer shell of my ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I plan to make you scream, but we haven’t reached that portion of the evening quite yet.”
Brayden.
Air rushes from my lungs as he tweaks my nipples, pulling and elongating them with skillful fingertips. That’s all it takes for relief to morph into arousal.
“How did you get in here?” I ask breathlessly.
Not that it’s difficult. We’re not the men’s football team, surrounded by security. Every once in a while, a girl—or plural—will attempt to slip into the guys’ locker room after a game or practice. They’re usually caught within minutes and tossed out on their asses.
“I was waiting around with Rowan outside when Demi mentioned that you were in here all by your lonesome.” The low timbre of his voice grows deeper. “How could I resist sneaking in to help clean you up?”
His words send my belly into freefall as he grabs the liquid soap and drizzles it over my breasts before stroking his hands across them, lathering them up again. What he’s doing feels so damn good that my head lolls back, resting against the solid strength of his chest.
“Have I mentioned what a fan I am of your breasts?”
Gahhh.
Barely am I able to focus on the question. Just when I don’t think I can take another moment of the pleasure he’s stoking to life inside me, his fingers drift down my rib cage, spreading soap suds over my skin, turning it slippery in the process. He doesn’t leave one inch of my flesh untouched. Hot licks of desire burn through me as I squirm against his bigger body. By the time his fingers reach the lips of my pussy, I’m ready to come undone. Already I know that it won’t take much to push me over the edge. One dip inside and I’ll shatter into a million pieces.
A whimper escapes from me as his fingers skate over my soaked flesh.
“You like that, baby?” he growls against my ear.
My bones feel as if they’re melting as one thick digit teases my heat. If he weren’t propping me up, I would sink to the floor. His movements are leisurely, as if we have all the time in the world. As if my body hasn’t been set on fire and I’m not already teetering on the precipice. He promised to make me scream and already I’m on the verge of doing it. But still, he doesn’t quicken his pace. It remains measured and controlled. Brayden is always in command of the situation. Breathy little sounds continue to escape from me as we fall into a natural rhythm.
Oh god.
How does he do it?
How does he know exactly what touch will elicit the most pleasure?
Each time we’re together, the sex feels explosive. And it only continues to ratchet up in intensity. He’s constantly changing things up and pushing me higher than I’ve flown before. No one has ever made me feel like this. His touch has become an addiction.