"Some water—thanks," she answered.
Pulling open the fridge, he grabbed a coke for himself and the pitcher of filtered water she kept there. He poured her a glass and walked back out into the living room, pausing to quote the movie.
"You got porno and homo shows up in here in front of my babies? What kind of freak-ass store is this? And you two muthafuckas need Jesus!"
Big snorted out a laugh and walked into her bedroom, where it quickly died in his throat when he saw her standing at the mirror in just her Colts jersey and white cotton panties. Panties that, upon further inspection, he discovered had a blue horseshoe on the front. Goddamn. (Her team spirit was fucking hot.) He took a big gulp of the water he'd brought for her and swallowed thickly.
Alisha spotted him in the doorway. "Hey," she smiled coyly, undoing the braids in her hair. "I didn't hear you come in." She picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her chestnut locks.
"Nice outfit," he commented roguishly, stepping behind her. Their eyes met in mirror.
"Yeah?" she asked with a breathy laugh. "I was going to try and entice you into bed with this." She felt the laughter rumbling deeply in his chest as he pressed against her.
He expelled a breath and let his eyes leisurely rake over her body in the mirror. She was so toned and petite and perfect; utterly mouthwatering and gorgeous. Lifting the hem of her jersey slightly, he stared at the sports themed panties and grinned wickedly. "It worked…I'm enticed." His eyes gradually raised to hers again, held there.
Alisha cocked a knowing brow and continued to glide the brush through her hair as his eyes studied her. (They were a soft, dreamy shade of green just then.) He made no move to rush or to possess the way he normally did; his calloused fingers merely stroked slow, indecipherable patterns on her hips and down the tops of her thighs, sending tingles up her spine. "What?" she asked quietly, unsure what that curious look in his eyes meant.
His hand fell away from her hip and he rested his chin atop her head, just watching, before he reached for the brush, gently removing it from her grasp. Her big brown eyes grew curious in the mirror and his lips twitched in response; he liked her that way. He especially liked the way her eyes rounded and dilated when he ran the bristles gingerly through the dark strands from top to bottom.
"Your hair drives me crazy," he whispered lowly against her ear. He continued brushing her hair, piece by piece, alternating using his fingers and the brush in his hand.
Alisha leaned into his motions (she almost felt like a damned cat), but the sensual feeling of Big brushing her hair had her on the verge of purring, so she supposed cat-like was fairly apt. She laughed quietly when his fingertips skittered down the nape of her neck. (A spot where he knew she was ticklish.)
"You drive me crazy," she murmured back, brown meeting hazel in the mirror once more as she watched a smile stretch leisurely over his chiseled features.
Big put the brush down on the dresser and smoothed her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck. Her lashes fluttered in anticipation and he smirked, wrapping his arms around her middle and pressing his cheek against hers. "We look good together," he said lowly, the smirk falling away. They really did look amazing standing there leaning against each other.
"We do," she agreed with a faint smile, resting her head back against his shoulder; her hand rubbed lightly over his forearm.
"Damn right. We're two good lookin' Jews," he said, making her laugh again. He turned and trailed his lips lightly up the delicate column of her neck and over the curve of her jaw. "You're beautiful," he said thickly, nipping at her ear.
That was the first time, she thought hazily as her head began to swim. (His lips had that effect on her.) The first time he'd referred to her as beautiful and not hot or sexy or some other similar adjective. Butterflies raged wildly in her belly as the word sounded over and over again in her brain. "Jake," she whispered, growing desperate to feel his hands on her fully.
Big lifted his eyes to hers in the reflection. "I mean it—you're so damn beautiful, Alisha." He didn't miss the blush that swept up her neck and stained her cheeks. His heart hammered in response—he'd never used that word to describe her before—which was ridiculous, because anyone with working eyes could see that she was; and remarkably so.
"Kiss me," she breathed, angling her head back.
He gladly obliged, cupping her chin with one hand and brushing his lips teasingly against hers. His tongue smoothed over her bottom lip, seeking entrance, and delved inside when she opened for him. Leisurely sampling her mouth, their tongues glided lazily around each other in a slow dance. Alisha's hand slinked up to the back of his head, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more and more breathless.
She groaned softly when his lips broke from hers, but then his hands (his amazing, amazing hands!) snuck under her jersey and inched it up and off her body, exposing her breasts that were wrapped in royal blue lace. (She had a lot of Colts spirit.)
"Sexy," he rasped as a little smile tugged at his mouth. He skimmed his fingertips along her collarbone, watching her watch him in the mirror. (Hot!) Brown eyes lowered when his fingers softly brushed the gentle swells popping out at the top of the lace.
Familiar heat stirred low in her belly and began to pulse at the apex of her thighs. She arched back against his chest, eager for
