“If you ever call yourself a whore again,” he pushes his face into mine, his nose only centimeters from touching my own, “I will take you over my knee and spank the hell out of you. Do you understand me? You turn me inside out. I want to fuck you seven shades of Sunday, and I want to make long, slow, sweet love to you for days. I’m craving you, goddamn it, and you can’t just say shit like that to me when I know what you taste like, and what you look like and I need desperately to know what the fuck you feel like.”

I blink at him, completely thrown.

Well, okay then.

“Now, as much as I want to strip you naked and take you on the fifty-yard-line, I don’t need those photos surfacing on the internet any more than you do.”

And with that he bends down and in one swift move, lifts me onto his shoulder and begins carrying me off the field, just as quickly as he was before.

“I can walk,” I remind him.

“Not fast enough,” he mutters and slaps my ass.

“Hey!”

“You deserve that and more, now shut up, Megan.”

Holy fuck.

We get to the car and he sets me on my feet, and then helps me into the passenger seat. He walks briskly around the car and folds himself easily behind the wheel, starts the car and pulls out of the garage, speeding toward the freeway.

His handsome face is scowling and he won’t look at me.

I’m not sure what to think. Why is he so pissed off? Too much sexual tension? Well, join the club, sexy man.

“So…” I start but he interrupts me.

“Don’t talk.”

What?

We’re back on Interstate 5, heading north this time, and he’s driving way past the speed limit. He passes the exit for my place, and I frown over at him but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Suddenly, he’s pulling off the freeway, turns left, and follows the road to an exclusive part of Seattle. The homes are set back from the road with gates. He approaches the end of the street, pulls into a drive and enters a code for the gate.

“The code is 051877. Can you remember that?”

“Oh, so you’re speaking to me,” I mutter sarcastically.

He just looks over at me expectantly until I huff and say, “051877.”

The gate opens and Will drives us down to a beautiful home that has an unbelievable view of the Puget Sound. From what I can see in the semi-darkness, the house is a traditional-style stone house, two stories, with a four car garage.

“Wow. This is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he mutters and pulls the car into a garage, parks and cuts the engine. He unbuckles both of our belts and looks over at me, just stares at me for a long minute.

“What is it?” I whisper.

“I want you.”

“I sort of figured that out, babe.” I offer him a smile, but he doesn’t return it. Maybe this is an invitation without actually asking me, to make good on what I said in the stadium?

“Are you wearing underwear?” I ask him.

He laughs ruefully – finally! – and shakes his head. “Of course. Most people do, Meg.”

“Tilt your seat back,” I tell him. He holds my gaze and does as I ask. I kick off my shoes and pull my legs under me in the seat, settling my butt on my heels. Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I lean in and kiss him hard and deep, earning a growl from deep in his throat. I reach down and unbutton and unzip his jeans and he helps me by raising his hips and shimmying his pants and really sexy white boxer briefs down his hips, letting his heavy, long, thick erection spring free.

Jesus H. Christ, the man is hung! Given his height, this shouldn’t surprise me in the least, but it does intimidate me. I bite my lip and look into his gorgeous blue eyes uncertainly.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asks me and runs his knuckles down my cheek.

“When we do finally get to have sex, I’m not sure…” I can’t complete the sentence and he chuckles.

“You’ll stretch, Meg.” His eyes are warm and happy, and he pulls me in for another long, slow kiss. I reach down and stroke him, loving the velvet-soft skin, the feel of the veins, and the smooth, round tip.

“Goddamn, honey.” He throws his head back and sucks in a deep breath. “Your hands should come with a warning label.”

I grin and lick the head of his cock, right across the top, lapping up the little bead of dew that already formed there. His hips buck up off the seat and I decide I’ve played nice long enough.

I want to drive him fucking mad.

I lick him from his balls to the tip, and then back down again, and then, cupping his scrotum in one hand, I sink down on him and suck.

“Holy, fuck!” He sinks his hands in my hair and gently starts to guide me up and down his hardness. I suck and lick, and suck and lick some more with each movement and continue the torture with my hands. I feel his balls tighten in my right hand, and I know it won’t be long before he loses control.

So I sink down on him as far as I can, until I feel him deep in my throat, and slip my finger down past his scrotum to that sensitive skin just underneath and I rub gently, making him crazy.

“Megan, I’m going to come.”

I hum in pleasure, but I feel him holding back, so I repeat the motions, move my mouth up and down his shaft, and rub that little spot below his scrotum.

“Ah, fuck!” Will comes violently, shoots his warmth into the back of my mouth and I swallow quickly. I continue to lick and tease him as droplets continue to flow  out of his slit, and I smile as his body goes lax.