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And then, harder.
Faster.
Powerful strokes that sent me sliding up and down the wall with each one, holding onto his slick, wet shoulders for dear life.
“Damn, you feel good,” Tatum groaned in my ear as he pushed closer, deeper. He stayed right there, not pulling back, just circling his hips, massaging my walls. “You ain’t right, you know that?” he asked, making me grin even in the midst of a moan as he suddenly started stroking again.
“I ain’t right for what? Having good pussy?” I managed to breathe.
“Mmhmm,” he grunted against my mouth. “Nothing is supposed to feel this fucking good. You had to have sold your soul for this.”
“Damn fool,” I giggled as he increased his pace. He let go of his grip on my ass, slipping a hand between us to play with my clit as he stroked.
“Ohhhhhh,” I moaned. “You the one that’s not right.”
“Wrong,” he chuckled. “This is the most correct dick you ever got.”
FIFTEEN
TATUM
The years were starting to catch up to me.
There was no two ways about it.
I’d experienced the aches and pains of football enough to have become accustomed to it, even managing around my neuropathy, which had taken years to fully understand and adapt to.
Wildgrass though?
It kicked my ass a little more every year, becoming harder and harder trying to keep up with those young guys.
But that was okay.
I liked to believe it slowed the aging process down, even if just a little bit. I’d never tell the lie the real old folks liked to bandy about, that it was keeping them young.
Shit, not me.
I liked to, and had to, quite frankly, be for real with myself about my limitations, on and off the field. The toll they took. Especially with my position being one of the most dangerous ones on the field.
It was why, at least in part, I was up at the ass crack of dawn on a horse, riding out with my father and brothers. No true intention, not really, just putting eyes on the land, and spending the last bit of time together before I headed back to the airport with Rori.
I had physical therapy and neurology visits waiting, as well as a check-in with Cole and Jordan at RSM. My physical health, brain health, emotional health, all had to be checked on as we approached the season, which would be here before I knew it.
And a host of obligations in the meantime.
The draft would be coming up in just a few days, the Kings’ opportunity at pulling fresh talent from college ball. I liked to keep my eyes on what was happening with that. Pretty shortly after, there would be the rookie minicamp, which they always asked me to be a part of.
This year was no different.
We had several voluntary practices and workouts sprinkled through. And then, just before summer, a mandatory minicamp.
Then pre-training camp.
Then training camp.
Pre-season.
The season.