Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)
I look up, and I wish I hadn’t. Boon isn’t even looking at me or my tapes. He’s got his head down, looking at the table. He leans into Wes and says something. I try not to pay attention; I try to focus on my tablet, but I can’t. Wes laughs silently, and he’s looking right at me. Are they talking about me? Boon looks back down to the table, and my heart sinks into my gut. I force myself to turn back to the screen to keep from losing my cool. I’m unsure if that would end up with me yelling or crying, so I pause, take in a deep breath, and center myself. I know Ally said not to jump on the negative, but I can’t help it. I just needed Boon to look at me. Give me a smile. One smile to reassure me. But I didn’t get one, which has to mean one thing.
I mean nothing to him.
I never do.
Chapter Twelve
Boon
Man, it’s hard not to stare at Posey.
I know if I do, though, I’ll see her lying on her back, that slick, pristine pussy of hers mine for the taking, and I’ll jump over the four rows of my teammates and tackle her to the ground. I’d press my lips to hers so hard that I wouldn’t care if our teeth knocked. I just want to taste her. Fuck, I can still feel her around me like a vise grip. I have never in my life been in such a tight pussy. I almost blew my load on the first fucking thrust, and damn it, I want her again. I want to dive into her, suck her into my mouth, and slam into her all over again. I want to hear her soft meeps and moans. Feel her arms around me, holding me tight, and those fingertips gripping my ass.
She smelled like heaven, but why am I surprised? She looks like heaven too. I swear, if I looked up, I’d see little rays of God’s sunshine around her. Angels would sing and lift her up for me. Man, I’m feeling her. Posey’s voice is crisp and to the point, and I wish I could act like I’m unaffected by her. I wish I could sit here, stare at her, and act like I don’t want her more than I want my next breath, but I know I can’t. I honestly don’t know how she is doing it.
Such the professional.
Damn, she’s driving me wild.
When I got back to the locker room from her office, I went to get my phone out of my bag to DM her, but I realized I had left it at home. A side effect of being hungover is forgetting your phone, I guess, especially when I threw it across my bed last night. Wes is giving me shit about driving me home after lunch, but I need my phone. I need to speak to her. I need to tell her I want to see her tonight. Every night, even. Damn it, I can’t help it. I need to look at her. I glance up, and she’s drawing on her tablet, really drilling us to watch for the second line. She’s put on some pants, hiding her incredible legs. Her sweatshirt is big and she’s drowning in it, but I know what her breasts feel like. I didn’t get to admire them, suck on them, or nuzzle my face in them, but I will. I’m going to completely and utterly devour her tonight. I swallow hard as she moves across the room, talking with her hands in such a commanding way.
Man, the things I’m going to do to that sweet body of hers.
“As we discussed,” she says, looking back to Jakob, “I want to switch the lines up a bit.”
Jakob looks to Coach, and Coach shrugs. My heart, it speeds up. What is she doing? “Sure, go ahead.”
“This PK is rough, and I feel we need more aggressive but precise play. I want more forwards on the rush, so the first line will be Brooks, Everett, Yukentco, with Reeves. But Bacioretty, I want you playing up, more toward the left of the goal.” She draws an X where she wants Willy. Brooks looks over at me, confused, since just an hour ago, I said I was good with her, but I am clearly not. “The second line will be McMillian, Johansson, Halucuthy, with Carlson and Macky on the forward defense.” When her eyes cut to mine, I hold my breath. Her gaze isn’t kind or even hot; it’s full of anger. What the hell is going on? “Hoenes, we’ll throw you in if we need you. I need more precision tonight, but that doesn’t mean we won’t use you if needed. So please be ready.”