Page 23

TWENTY-TWO

Damon

Right.

So I’m starting to think it’s likely that I may have miscalculated.

But now my brain is stuck on… “Syrup?”

The barest tinge of pink appears on her cheeks but her eyes are still furious.

“Oh, fuck off,” she mutters. “Now you’re thinking with your dick because I hinted at sex. No”—she pushes at my chest—“this was clearly a mistake. I shouldn’t have gone there and?—”

I’m fucking this up.

Muddling my way through it, letting my temper take hold like usual and allowing it to fuck everything up in the process.

So…I do the only thing I can in this moment.

I kiss her.

She stills for a moment. Then her hands push at my chest again, harder this time. I ignore her, trace my tongue over the seam of her lips and?—

She softens, mouth parting, allowing me in.

Thank God.

One small thing I’m not fucking up.

But it’s only when she melts against me that I lift my head.

“Damon—”

I touch her cheek. “I assumed wrong and I was a jackass, Red.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Like I said, I assumed wrong. I thought you left because you regretted what happened or because I’d—” I clench my teeth together.

Her expression gentles. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want, sweetheart.”

That hits me hard in the chest—the endearment, the relief.

Thank fuck.

“Still, I get it. I fucked up, Red.” I lightly trace the plump curves of her mouth. “I overreacted and I’m sorry.”

Her face goes soft. “Just like that?”

“Just like what?”

“An apology,” she says. “Without me having to tear it out of you?”

“Baby, I fucked up. Whenever have I doubled down on that?”

“The Berchard trade?” she says without delay, says so quickly that I can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I was probably wrong about letting him go, but it brought Storm to the team, so I think I win.”

Her lips press together, her eyes sliding away—which tells me enough.

I’ve won this round.

I drop my arms, reach over, and snag her backpack.

“Wh—”

“Pancake time, Red.”

“I—”

I turn the handle, flick my gaze over my shoulder at her, gaze trailing up and down that gorgeous body. “And after that…syrup.”

* * *

“Uh…Coach?”

We pause our discussion of lines for tonight and I turn back to see Storm standing in the hall.

I look from Storm to Joey, not missing the longing in the kid’s eyes.

I know how that feels.

But I can’t deny that I have to shove down the urge to make my claim clear and public.

Not the time.

Not the place.

So, I just step a few feet away and let them have their conversation.

Though, I do it wanting to murder the kid.

Or maybe arrange another trade.

Get him the fuck out of here and far, far away from my woman.

“Damon, hey.”

I snap out of my planned trade—or murder—and turn my focus to the man who’s come up to me. “Yeah? Hey, Ted”—he’s one of the members of the team’s player development program—“what can I do for you?”

“The scouting reports you asked for are in your inbox. But I wanted to show you this.” He holds up a tablet. “Personally.”

There’s excitement in his eyes and it takes me approximately two seconds to see why.

The kid he’s showing me—the one he first identified a year ago—has gone from good to… fucking great.

I whistle softly.

“What is it?” Joey asks, coming close again.

But she doesn’t avoid bumping into my body like she usually does. Instead, as she comes close, her tit brushes against my arm as she leans in and taps at the tablet’s screen, replaying the video.

I feel her jerk and my dick likes what it does to her breast against my arm.

But I like her smile even more.

“He’s good,” she says.

“ Really good,” Ted agrees.

Her eyes flick to mine then turn back to Ted. “Let’s bring him in.”

“On it,” he says and starts to hurry off.

“This is good,” she murmurs.

“Yup.” I lean in, drop my voice. “But it’s not going to be as good as pancakes were.”

Heat in her eyes as her body presses the tiniest bit closer, her breast soft and plump against me, her scent in my nose. “I thought we might have syrup first.”

* * *

“Fuck, baby,” I groan as I pump into her. “You feel so fucking good.”

She arches against me, head pressing into the pillows, legs wrapped tightly around me. “No, you feel good, sweetheart.”

A pulse in my chest.

But I’m getting used to that, used to the feel of her, used to how fucking great this feels between us.

“Oh, God!” she cries. “Right there. Don’t stop. Right—” She shudders around me, pussy clamping down hard on my dick, convulsing as she comes apart.

I’m right behind her, one more stroke, two, and?—

“Fuck!” I growl.

It should be scary how good this is, how intense my orgasm is, how hard I come with her wrapped so tightly around me, but I’m not feeling fear, not right now.

I’m not feeling much of anything except relaxed as fuck…and like I want to fuck her all over again.

“We forgot the syrup,” she says lazily, trailing a foot lightly along my side.

I grin and roll over to face her, drawing her against me.

She wasn’t wrong about the pancakes—they were fucking delicious—but she’s right, I got so distracted that the side of syrup I brought back with us is sitting unused on the nightstand.

“Another time.” It’s still lazy.

But it’s also paired with a squirm of her hips and suddenly I’m not thinking about another time.

I’m thinking about this time.

Rolling, I snag the container of syrup…and then I roll back and?—

“Whoops.”

She jumps, muscles flexing against the drop of syrup I’ve trailed over her belly.

“Damon,” she whispers.

I bend, drag my tongue through the sticky mess.

“Syrup,” I say. “ This time.”