Page 31 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

I t’s the night before the last game of the regular season, and I should be at home resting.

I should definitely not be following my coach’s daughter down the hallway to her bedroom, but here we are.

She’s nervous, even though she’s trying to play it cool. I can tell by the way her fingers tighten on mine that she feels this just as much as I do.

The sound of my footsteps behind her is loud in the quiet apartment, and for a second, I wonder if she can hear how fast my heart’s beating too.

She pushes her bedroom door open and steps inside, glancing over her shoulder at me.

“Are you coming in or just going to stand there looking guilty?” she murmurs.

I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I follow her in. “Maybe a little of both.”

Her room is once again in perfect condition—organized, soft colors, not a single thing out of place. And yet, right now, she looks anything but put together. Her cheeks are still flushed, her lips are still kiss-bruised from the living room, and her messy bun has started to fall apart completely.

Stopping at the foot of her bed, she turns to face me, crossing her arms over her chest.

For a second, I just stand still, taking her in. The way the soft lamplight catches in her hair. The way she’s biting her lip like she doesn’t know what to say or do next.

Then I close the distance between us.

Her arms fall as I step into her space, my hands finding her hips and pulling her flush against me.

“You make it really hard to behave myself, ya know,” I murmur, leaning down just enough to brush my lips against hers.

She lets out a soft laugh, breathless already. “Says the one who’s breaking every rule in the book.”

“Worth it,” I mutter back, before kissing her again.

And just like in the living room, our heat ignites instantly.

Her hands slide up my chest, fisting in the front of my shirt as she deepens the kiss, and I feel her back arch as I walk her backward until her knees hit the bed.

She sinks down onto the mattress, pulling me with her, and before I know it I’m kneeling on the edge, leaning over her, my fingers digging into the sheets on either side of her head.

I force myself to slow down just enough to really look at her—breathing hard, eyes dark, hair falling loose around her face.

And it hits me again—hard—that she has no idea what she’s doing to me.

I drop my head, resting my forehead against hers as I catch my breath.

“Lyla,” I say quietly.

“What?” she whispers.

I lift my head just enough to meet her eyes, my thumb brushing absently over her hip.

“You ever gonna tell me,” I murmur. “Why you let me touch you like this…if you don’t do physical unless it’s serious?”

She freezes beneath me, her breath catching, her lips parting like she wants to answer—but can’t.

Her silence stretches between us, but she doesn’t look away.

And she doesn’t stop me.

That’s all the answer I need.

Something shifts inside me—like a lock clicking open—and I dip my head, pressing my mouth to hers again.

Slower this time.

Deeper.

She sighs against my lips, her hands sliding up to curl under my hoodie and around my shoulders, her fingers warm where they dig into my skin.

Her lips are soft and insistent, her breath sweet as she exhales into me. And for the first time in my life, kissing someone feels like more than just a means to an end.

I pull back just long enough to look at her—really look at her.

She’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her like this.

I run my thumb along her jaw, watching her shiver when I do, and murmur roughly, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her eyelids flutter, and she whispers, “Then show me.”

That’s all it takes for any restraint I had left to snap.

I kiss her again, harder this time, swallowing the quiet gasp she makes when my hand slides under her hoodie and brushes over her warm skin.

I feel every line of her as she arches into me, heat radiating from her where our bodies meet.

I sit back just enough to tug her hoodie over her head and toss it to the floor.

Her skin is glowing in the warm light of the lamp and I quickly realize she is naked under her sweatshirt.

“What’s this, Princess? Nothing underneath?

” I lower my head to kiss her bare collarbone, and she lets out a sound that makes my pulse spike.

I make my way down to her breasts, her nipples waiting for me to pay them equal attention.

“That’s okay, I’ve never been patient when opening presents anyway. ”

I take my time sucking one into my mouth while rubbing the other between my thumb and forefinger, getting her so worked up that she begins writhing beneath me.

She tastes like vanilla and salt, and the way she moves under my mouth—her back arching, her fingers threading into my hair—nearly undoes me.

I press her back against the sheets, dragging my hand slowly up her side, learning every inch of her like I’ve got all the time in the world.

Because this isn’t just about me wanting her.

I need her.

Her breath hitches when I lean down and kiss the curve of her shoulder, then lower, kissing the side of her neck as my hands skim over the top of her breasts.

She’s shaking now, just a little, but she doesn’t stop me—she lifts her hips instead, making it easier for me to slide her shorts down her legs.

I pause for half a second to look at her, laid out beneath me in nothing but her black lace thong, and something in my chest comes alive at the sight.

Mine.

No one has ever undone me like this.

I let my eyes drag over her—every inch of her skin, her chest rising in uneven breaths, the faintest tremor in her legs where they shift under me.

Her thong clings to her hips, delicate and perfect, and for a second I just…stay there.

Because this isn’t just sexual tension anymore. It’s more than that.

It’s her.

I already know the mental image of her, laying before me like this, is something I’ll never be able to forget.

My hands skim up the outside of her thighs, fingers brushing over smooth, warm skin, feeling the heat radiating off her as she lets out this little broken sound that shoots straight through me.

When I lean down again and press my mouth to her stomach—slow, deliberate—her back arches, her fingers gripping the sheets like she doesn’t know what else to hold on to.

“Carter,” she breathes, my name slipping from her lips in a quiet, pleading whisper.

I glance up at her, keeping my lips just above her waistband. “Tell me what you need.”

Her lashes lower, her voice barely there. “You. Please. Just you.”

That’s all it takes.

I kiss lower, over the soft curve of her hip, then to the lace between her thighs, feeling the shiver that runs through her as my breath hits her.

“Keep your eyes on me,” I murmur, hooking my fingers into the thong and dragging it down her legs.

The sight of her bare before me—vulnerable, perfect—makes my chest ache.

I push her thighs wider with my hands, spreading her open, and just take her in for a second.

“God, Lyla,” I groan low in my throat. “You’re beautiful.”

Her breath hitches, her cheeks flush as her hands clutch at the sheets.

Then I lower my head and kiss the inside of her knee, then higher, letting my tongue trace a slow line over the sensitive skin there until she gasps.

When my mouth finally presses to her center, she cries out softly, her hips jerking in surprise.

I flatten my tongue against her at first, slow and deliberate, savoring the heat and the taste of her.

Then I slide the tip of my tongue up to circle her clit, gentle at first, then firmer when she moans my name.

“That’s it,” I murmur against her, dragging my tongue in a figure-eight, alternating between flattening it and teasing her with just the tip, savoring every quiet gasp she gives me.

Her hands fist in my hair as I pick up the pace, adding the lightest suction around her clit while my tongue flicks faster, then slowing down just to make her whimper.

“You like that?” I rasp, pressing a kiss to her slick heat before diving back in.

“Y-yes—please—don’t stop?—”

I groan against her, adding two fingers and curling them just right, feeling her tense and then melt around me.

Her thighs threaten to close around my head, but I keep them spread, my tongue working her in quick, precise strokes now, flicking against her clit faster, harder, until her whole body arches and she cries out my name, riding out every part of her pleasure.

I don’t stop until she’s shaking, until her hips fall back to the sheets and she’s gasping, her chest heaving.

When I finally pull back, I press a kiss to her inner thigh and crawl over her, kissing her mouth softly, letting her taste herself on my lips.

Her hands tug at my hoodie, and I grin faintly as I strip it off, tossing it aside. I lean down and press my mouth to hers, slow and hungry, feeling her hands already working at the waistband of my sweats.

But when I push them down and settle over her again, her fingers still against my hip.

I pause, glancing down at her face.

Her cheeks are flushed, her chest still heaving, but her eyes meet mine—steady, even now.

“You…” she whispers, catching her breath. “You brought protection, right?”

It takes me half a second to catch her meaning—then my stomach tightens.

She’s trusting me with this. She wants this.

Wants me.

And I’d rather cut my own arm off than let her think I wouldn’t have been ready for her.

I duck my head, letting my lips brush hers as I murmur, “Yeah, I got you.”

She exhales a soft little laugh and loosens her grip on my hip, letting her hands drift up my chest again as I shift back, just enough to reach into my wallet on the nightstand.

You can’t blame a guy. I’d rather come prepared than not.

I tear the foil open with my teeth and roll it on, my eyes locked on her the whole time.

Her gaze flicks down, her lips parting slightly, and the way she watches me almost undoes me right on the spot.

When I’m back between her thighs, she tilts her hips up instinctively, bringing my hard dick in line with her center, her legs wrapping around my waist as my hands frame her face.

“You okay?” I murmur, my voice low and rough, but gentle.

She nods without hesitation, her fingers curling around the back of my neck as she whispers,

“Yes. Please.”

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in for one last moment before I finally push into her, slow and deliberate.

She gasps softly, her nails dragging over my shoulders, and I groan her name against her skin as her warmth surrounds me.

“You feel—” I break off with a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I press deeper. “Fuck, you feel perfect.”

And when she tightens her legs around me, pulling me closer, all I can think—over and over—is how impossible it’s going to be to ever let her go.

Her hips instinctively tilt up, meeting me halfway.

Her warmth envelops me inch by inch, tight and soft, and the feeling almost knocks the breath out of my chest.

I groan her name low against her cheek, trying to keep my control, but it’s impossible when she’s clinging to me like this.

Her legs tighten even more around my waist, hooking at the small of my back to draw me in deeper, and I feel her whole body shiver under me, pussy practically choking my cock, as I bottom out inside her.

We stay there for a beat—both of us breathing hard, her forehead pressed to mine, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusts to me.

I drag my hands slowly down her sides, feeling every curve of her body shift beneath me. Her skin is hot and smooth under my palms, her ribs expanding with each breath, her hips rocking faintly as though her body’s already searching for more.

I pull out just enough to feel her clench around me, then push back in, slow and deep.

She presses into me, her lips parting on a quiet, breathy moan of my name that sends heat pooling low in my gut.

“Goddamn, Lyla…” I groan, my hands gripping her hips now, holding her steady as I start to move in a slow, steady rhythm.

Every roll of my hips draws another sound out of her—soft little gasps, quiet whimpers that she tries to bite back but can’t.

Her fingers clutch at my back, her nails digging in as she meets me thrust for thrust, my hands moving to her ass, tilting her hips just enough to let me slide deeper with each stroke.

The sheets rustle beneath us, and her legs flex around me, her knees drawing higher to let me press closer, angling my hips just right.

She lets out a sharp little cry when I hit the spot that makes her whole body jump, and I don’t even try to hide my smile as I lower my mouth to her ear.

“There?” I rasp, my breath hot against her skin. “Right there?”

She nods frantically, whispering, “Don’t stop—don’t stop?—”

So I don’t.

I maintain a slow, deliberate rhythm, doing exactly what she says, making sure there’s constant friction over her clit as I move. Her head tips back into the pillow, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I watch her come apart beneath me.

I dip my head, kissing the hollow of her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, tasting the salt on her skin as she arches into me.

Her hands find my hair, tugging hard as she tightens around me, her legs clamping around my waist as her whole body trembles.

“That’s it,” I groan against her shoulder, my thrusts starting to falter as she gasps my name, her hips jerking under me. “Come for me, Princess. Squeeze my cock with that tight little pussy.”

She goes over the edge with a broken little moan, her walls fluttering around me, and the sight of her like this—completely undone, completely mine—tips me right over with her.

I press as deep as I can go, burying myself inside her as my release rips through me, my face buried in her neck, her name falling from my lips over and over like a prayer.

Even then, I can’t stop moving right away—rocking into her in smaller, slower motions as the aftershocks roll through both of us.

When I finally still, my chest is heaving, but I stay right there—forehead to hers, my hands smoothing over her sides as she tries to catch her breath.

Her body is still trembling faintly beneath me, her legs softening but still loosely wrapped around my hips, her hands fisted in my hair like she doesn’t want to let me go just yet.

And God help me…

I don’t want to let her go either.