“God, you feel so good,” Makoa breathed, rocking his hips out, and in, out, and in. He held one ankle on his shoulder, letting the other fall until I was practically in a split. “So fucking tight.”
I didn’t have it in me to break up his adoration with the fact that any vagina would feel tight to his barbarian of a cock.
Every thought and possible sentence I could form was stolen with his next thrust, anyway, and I surrendered to the feeling, to the way one of his hands held my leg steady on his shoulder and the other dragged through my hair, tugging hard enough to expose my throat for his mouth and take my next breath.
His thrusts were relentless, his kisses punishing, his hands bruising — and I loved every second of it.
When his hands were on me like this, when his teeth broke my flesh, I didn’t have space in my mind to think about how much I cared for him, how much I wanted him, how much it would hurt to lose him at this point. Every new kiss shoved those thoughts further from my mind, and when he reached a hand down between us to rub my clit the way I had when I rode him our first time, thought ceased to exist altogether.
All I could do was feel.
His breath in my ear, whispering for me to come. His teeth on my neck in the next second. His cock, deep inside me, stretching me wide as his fingers rubbed slow, meticulous circles on my clit.
If I knew only one thing about Makoa Kumaka, it was this:
That tank of a man knew how to fuck me.
“Coming,” I managed on a whisper, eyes squeezed tight and muscles spasming as I reached for my climax. I caught it like the fuse of a firework, the burn slow and sizzling at first before it erupted through me in hot sparks, blast after blast, making me shake and writhe with every new wave.
When I creaked open my eyes, Makoa’s were on me, the satisfaction from making me come written all in the honey pools.
I’d barely stopped shaking, barely caught a single breath before Makoa ripped out of me, yanking me up to stand with him. He had his hand wrapped around his cock, and just one glance of his eyes to the floor told me what he wanted.
I dropped to my knees, opening my mouth, eyes cast upward.
And with a groan and a flex, Makoa came, spilling his hot release on my tongue, my neck, the swells of my breasts, the tops of my thighs. He coated me with his desire, and I rolled my fingers in every stream I felt, rubbing it over every inch of me, tongue skating out to taste the bit left on my lips.
“Jesus Christ,” he cursed, falling back onto the bed just as his legs gave out. He still had one hand wrapped around his dick, and his chest heaved with every new breath as he watched me, shaking his head. “What the fuck do you bring out in me?”
I laughed, wiping his cum from the corner of my mouth and sucking it off my finger. “The very best parts, I think.”
He smirked, eyes bouncing over every inch of me. “I made a mess.”
“Indeed, you did. But I think I have a solution.”
“Shower?”
I nodded, hopping up to my feet before I made my way over to him. “Join me?”
“Like that’s even a question,” he answered, claiming my lips. His fingers dragged a trail over the cum on my tits, my stomach, and he slid his fingers down more to rub my clit.
I shivered at the feel of his hot release on that sensitive bud, even more tender after climaxing. “You’re going to make me want round two if you keep touching me like that.”
Makoa just smiled against my kiss. “Isn’t that the whole point of the shower?”
I laughed, biting his lower lip before I released it.
And then I dragged that beast by the hand into the shower for what I was sure would be the first, but not the last time that night.
Makoa
It occurred to me over the next three weeks that I was really, really good at making excuses.
The conversations I’d had with Colby and Zach were not forgotten, but I’d say they were sort of like the ugly gift from a great aunt, the kind you smiled at and insisted would be used but then shoved to the farthest, darkest corner of your closet where neither you, nor anyone else, would ever see it.
I’d think about sitting Belle down and telling her everything, but then we’d have an amazing night on the town, or spend the day lounging at her place, or go exploring the city, and I couldn’t find it in me to ruin such a perfect day by bringing up something that wasn’t that big of a deal.
It can wait, I told myself.
Belle grew busier and busier as the weeks went on, too — thanks to a job she hadn’t planned on working on until October that was sprung on her early. There were days she was tied up at the office or on the construction site all day and night, where I wouldn’t see her at all. Other times, she’d work long hours and then rejoice when I surprised her at her place, even if it was just to lay on the couch together and say nothing.
I couldn’t tell her on an already long, bad day.
It can wait.
Work was picking up for me, too. With training camp quickly coming up, I spent every day on the field with Gerald, or working out on my own, pulling two-a-days and watching film to prep for what awaited me in Lake Forest. In a way, I was thankful Belle was busy, because I needed to devote time to my training if I wanted any chance of proving to coach
