And he didn't hold back, driving into me with smooth and steady strokes until I felt myself falling into the abyss of my climax.
"Yes," he encouraged, and his hands gripped my breasts, his thumbs sliding across my pebbled nipples. "Let me feel that perfect pussy come all over my cock."
And I did. Just like that. With me on all fours and Wes at my back, the memory of both the actual encounter and the perfect teasing way Wes had painted it preemptively, he thrust inside of me with hard and deep and fast strokes that gave me no choice but to come on a scream that most likely let half the resort know what was happening inside our room.
Holy hell, I have the best life. The best fucking life. Literally and figuratively.
About an hour after part one of wicked hotel sex with Wes had come to a close, I was sitting inside a spacious conference room, surrounded by the staff and players of the Mavericks. Wes stood at the front of the room, eyes serious and mouth set in a firm line.
God, he looked so sexy. I knew we were there to discuss important matters-and hopefully, to prevent a publicity nightmare-but I couldn't stop thinking about that white bed. And me on the white bed. And me and Wes on the white bed. And the fact that there would be more of me and Wes on the white bed.
God, if I keep blushing like this, everyone will know what's on my mind. And with these characters, it's bound to turn into a fucking curtain call where Wes and I are forced into alternately bowing and accepting compliments on our performance.
I cleared my throat and tried to gain some perspective. Now was not the time for fantasies, no matter how amazing those fantasies were.
But were they really fantasies?
I mean, I knew they were going to become reality.
Hopefully, part two would begin right after Wes stressed to the group of burly football players dressed in board shorts and flip-flops, that no one would be "crowning" Miss Teen USA unless they wanted their balls FedExed Next Day Air back to their homes from Atlantis.
Yes, good job, Win. Focus on the team. The players.
Anything but the white bed … Goddammit …
"Does anyone have any questions about anything I just explained?" Wes asked the group, glancing around the room as if to dare one of them to ask or say something ridiculous.
I honestly hadn't heard a single word he'd said, too lost in my own pervy daydreams.
"I've got a question," Quinn Bailey announced.
Wes's eyebrows rose, and he nodded toward Quinn. "Yeah?"
"What's wrong with Dr. Double U?"
Within seconds, every person in the room had their eyes on me. I fought the urge to shield my face or crawl under the table. Which was an extremely odd reaction coming from me. I mean, I was generally always composed and could handle anything.
But this was a bed of a different color. White, my vagina clarified helpfully.
"Yeah, what's wrong with Dr. Double U?" Sean Phillips chimed in.
"Nothing," I snapped, probably a tad too defensively.
"You look really red right now. Are you sick? Are you not using enough sunscreen?" Bailey continued to harp on my appearance.
I looked toward the front of the room, and my eyes pleaded for Wes to save me from the inquisition. But he just smirked, the devious bastard, and chose only to add fuel to the fire. "Are you okay, Dr. Winslow?"
"I said, I'm fine," I answered through gritted teeth.
"Bailey is right. You're looking a little red? Maybe flushed? Are you running a fever?"
"Nope."
Wes tilted his head to the side, his face smeared with smug. "Are you sure?"
"Yep," I answered and scratched the side of my face with my middle finger.
"OMG," Bailey said in his Southern drawl as he glanced between Wes and me. "How the fuck did I miss that?"
"How the fuck do you get any women saying shit like OMG?" someone in the front row muttered and earned a few laughs.
"Miss what?" Phillips asked, and that led to several other players chiming in with their questions.
All the while, Wes stood at the front of the room, confident and cocky, smiling bigger than the sun, and just being the bossy, sweet bastard I was in love with.
Goddamn him.
Bailey flashed a knowing smirk in my direction, and I chose to act like a child and flip him off too. He just laughed in response. "Well, hot damn. Orgasms look good on Dr. Double U."
I abruptly stood from my seat at those words. "All right, fuck all of you. I'm leaving. Keep your dicks in your pants, and we should all be good to go. If I find out one of you even laid a finger on any chick with a sash and a tiara, I will immediately have to put you on the injured list after I injure you myself."
"I thought they were penises, Doc?" Mitchell asked mock-seriously. "Does this mean you're ready to see them socially."
I skewered him with a glower as all the other sarcastic remarks started to roll in. Mostly, though, at least verbally, I ignored them, too focused on getting the hell out of the room before my horny started to spread like a disease. The last thing Atlantis needed was a team full of horned-up professional football players when teenage pageant queens were striding around in their bikinis.
Unfortunately, the only exit from the room was in the front, which meant I had to pass Wes on my way out. I did my best hair flip and strode on my heels toward the door, but Wes had other plans, grabbing me by the waist as I passed him and pulling me into his arms.
And just like that, in a room full of professional athletes who were actually my patients, Wes dipped me back and kissed me soundly on the mouth.
"I agree with Bailey, you know," he whispered against my lips. "Orgasms look good on you."
I ignored the obnoxious wolf whistles in the room and stared back at my perfect match with a smile on my lips. "Big white bed in twenty minutes?" I asked.
His mouth stretched into an amused grin, and he whispered into my ear, "If you promise to be naked and stretched out waiting for me, I don't give a good goddamn what color the bed is."
"Consider it a deal, Lancaster," I said and silently thanked the universe that Melinda was able to make this trip and keep Lexi occupied with snorkeling this afternoon.
He steadied me on my feet and turned me toward the door. His hand looked ready to pat my ass with a quiet tap, but in the end, he thought better of it. The kiss in front of all the players had been mostly romantic. A smack on the ass bordered on demeaning. Instead, he settled for words and a look so goddamn hot, I started to sweat. "Get that little ass upstairs, Fred, and get ready."
Get ready? Hell, I had been ready.
And more than that, I'd always be ready for anything Wes had to give.
Like I said, I had the best fucking life.