Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends 2)

“Speaking of pleasure…” He looks down at me wolfishly and I remember that he didn’t come when we were having sex in the bathtub.

“That’s not the kind of pleasure I meant.”

But it’s too late—he’s scooping me up and carrying me into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. Carrying me as if I weigh next to nothing, which we both know isn’t the case.

He doesn’t put me down. Does not stop until we’re back in his bedroom and he’s setting me on the edge of the bed, hands cupping my face, mouth kissing me on the lips.

“Mmm.” It’s only been two hours, but I already missed this. His body pressed against mine, the intense heat he fills me with.

I raise my arms so he can pull my t-shirt off, over my head. Next come the leggings; I lean back on the mattress so he can divest me of them, one leg at a time, his hands slowly gliding up my smooth legs.

I’m only in a thong, having skipped a bra in haste when I threw on clothes to greet my dad.

Buzz is running his hands all over my bare skin, rubbing my shoulders and neck, gently pressing his thumbs into the knots buried there.

I moan. Eyes slide closed.

He is spoiling me rotten with all this affection and attention, and I could get used to it.

And why shouldn’t I after the hell I’ve been through with some of these assholes I’ve dated? Not to mention the emotional abandonment I’ve felt from my family.

Deserve it indeed…

My ass gets pulled to the edge of the bed, legs spread by a pair of large shoulders nudging them open. Buzz, down on his knees, buries his face between my thighs, tongue working its magic on my vagina.

My knees quiver, and without his support, I’d be unable to hold them open. What a not-horrible problem to have.

“Do you like that?” he mutters and I want to push his head back down because no chitchat during oral. Hello, cardinal rule!

Now I’ve morphed into a greedy asshole desperate for his touch. His tongue. His hands and fingers and dick.

“Fuck me.” I need him inside me. Give his shoulders a push, scooting my ass across the mattress, hoping he’ll get the hint. I mean, what bigger hint can there be other than Fuck me? But still—some guys love oral and don’t want to quit until they finish the job.

Buzz is no such man.

He rips his clothes off in record time, shucking his pajama bottoms and shirt, climbing on top, climbing up my body, kissing my skin along the way.

“Like satin,” he tells me. “So fucking beautiful.”

His tip nudges my slit. I spread my legs.

Sighs all around once he’s fully buried deep inside. Fuck it’s fantastic, fuck it’s good. Fuck, fuck, fuck me.

And he does.

Gentle then hard, then fast then slow.

He pounds away at me.

Rolls me over so I’m on top, letting me use his body any way I choose.

Rolls me back so I’m beneath him, his hand gripping the headboard. Watching his bicep flex is like watching porn. Gets me hotter and wetter than I already am and I feel my pussy clench.

“God, Hollis,” he pants. “I love you.”

Say what now?

“I love you.” Thrust. “I’m sorry but I do.” Thrust.

He leans down to kiss me, one hand still on the headboard, pulling at it to push himself deeper. “Christ you feel good. God you’re beautiful.”

Intoxicating words.

Impossible to ignore.

My lips part. “I…”

His blue eyes look down at me, bright. Optimistic.

“I love you, too.”

Epilogue

One week later

Trace

“My dad said you’re the best closer they’ve ever had.” Hollis reaches over to my side of the mattress, brushing an errant hair out of my eyes. We’re lying in bed, down for the night, about to turn off the lights. “It makes me so proud of you.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“Yesterday when I popped in at his penthouse—I had an early copy of a book that’s the perfect read for him. A biography about some baseball player from the thirties.” She yawns.

Hollis knows nothing about baseball and it shows.

Fucking adorable.

“Did he say anything else?” I love compliments.

“About you? Not really. He still seems to think you dating me is a distraction, so I tread lightly.”

Dang.

I really wanted to hear more about how wonderful I am.

She kisses my temple and continues absentmindedly brushing her fingers through my hair. I love it.

I love her.

“Hollis?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s get married.”

Her fingers stop and she twists her body so she can sit up in bed, turning to face me. “That’s not funny.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

The more I think about it, the more I want it to be true, the more I want it to happen. I don’t fucking care how long it’s been—I am in love with Hollis Westbrooke. Have been since I bumped into her at work and she basically told me to piss off.