I punch Riley’s arm so he goes quiet when we walk into the church. People are finishing the touches on the floral arrangements. White. White for my bride.
Brooke.
“Still, I’ll bet he’s some sort of posh—”
I punch Riley lightly again. “Do you love her?” I demand.
“Hell no.” He looks affronted.
“Then stop complaining and let her be happy with this dude.”
“Amen,” Pete says.
I pull out my phone to check the time as Riley and Pete continue discussing the love life of Brooke’s best friend.
“There’s my boy!” Coach slaps my back. “You ready?”
“I was born ready.”
He laughs. “Season starts in two weeks, and we’re going to be ready.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Right now, I’m just ready to get fucking married to my wife.
PAST
TO MIAMI
We’re in the back of the plane the next day, our iPods in hand, my eyes devouring her and her eyes brazenly devouring me back.
“Put a song on for me,” I tell her.
Last night was a revelation. Maybe she’s more ready for me than I’d previously thought. Fuck, I can’t even think that without my hormones shooting crazy in me. As she ducks her head to choose my song, I want to brush her hair back and take her mouth, to tell her with that kiss she will be mine.
I’m playing her Survivor’s “High on You” and I’m fiercely impatient to find out what she plays me now. Another girl song? One that teases me with hints that she’s all right without a man?
I hand her my iPod and take hers in my hand, then I slip on my headphones and listen to her selection: Journey’s “Any Way You Want It.”
My lips curve in an amused smile, but holy hell, the lyrics work me up. I lift my eyes to hers, then I examine her pink marshmallow mouth. She’s telling me I can get anything I want?
Including that beautiful fucking mouth?
What about those gorgeous tits? Those legs around me?
She licks her lips anxiously as she watches me listen, and the lust hits me so bad, my cock fills up and throbs until it feels like lead.
She says something, then laughs, but the music plays in my ears and I have no idea what she’s talking about, or to who. I dip my head closer. I’m not used to subtlety. And I need to know if this means what I think it means. What I want it to. My willpower is shredded into pieces so tiny that I can’t even believe I can sit here without dragging her into my lap, plunging my fingers in her hair, and working my tongue across hers. But what this song is saying to me just gets my lion roaring and I’m starting to wonder if I can hold him back.
“Play me another one,” I command.
She hesitates, her face flushed and her eyes liquid, and I have never been more aware of my hands, the palms of my hands, my fingers, and where I want them to be. She then plays me a song by a woman who’s begging to be made love to.
As the song plays to me, I make love to Brooke in my head. I move over her, inside her, in my head. She grips me with her arms, and I grip her hips and sit her down on me, and she moves with me, opening her mouth when I lick her lips, her tongue.
Now, I lean closer and dip my head to her own, and she leans back on the seat as if alarmed, her pulse fluttering in her throat. No, little firecracker, get back here with me. Don’t fizzle out now.
Sliding my hand around her small waist, I bring her closer, then I press my lips into her ear. My cock pulses in my jeans. My heart kicks into my rib cage and it is feeding my groin. I lean back and play “Iris” to her, then I pull off both our headphones and come closer to kiss her ear again.
“Do you want me?” I ask her, my voice guttural with need.
She nods against me, and my control snaps. I clench my hands on her hips and keep her against me. God, she wants me. I knew she did. I knew it. Something in my brain snaps, and I inhale the scent at her neck, where it’s always so powerfully sweet. I’m going to make her mine tonight. Suddenly, there’s nothing stopping me. Nothing.
Fuck me being black.
Fuck everything but Brooke.
My hunger is a raging monster as I tug her earlobe with my teeth and lick the shell of her ear, delighting in making love to that little ear with my tongue. The blood rushes through me, hot and heady. I can’t stop tasting and nuzzling her. She’s fallen still in the seat, against, and almost beneath, me, and I can feel her every shudder as I work my lips on her skin. All I can think of is the songs she played me . . . how they spoke to me . . . I can get anything I want, any way I want it, and she wants me to make love to her. She’s mine. I am meant to provide and to take what she gives. I won’t deny her any longer. I won’t deny myself.