My pace may be unhurried, but it’s intense as I continue my slow thrusts through her orgasm.
“Eyes open,” I instruct, and they are almost black, only the barest hint of gray visible as they meet mine.
In.
Out.
Push.
Pull.
Her body squeezes my dick, not wanting to let it go when I pull out to the tip before plunging back in.
My fingers uncurl from around her shoulder, tangling in the curls spread around her. I give a tug, angling her head for a devouring kiss, our mouths swallowing each other’s moans.
The tingling in my balls alerts me to my own orgasm, but I refuse to come before she has her second. What can I say? I’m an overachiever, at least in an athletic sense. I constantly try to make sure she comes more than I do. It’s not like you’ll get any complaints from her about it.
I swivel my hips to bump her clit with each pump of my hips, and there it is. Her teeth sink into the top of my shoulder, hard enough to indent the skin, as she comes all over my cock for the second time, milking my own release from me.
Lazily my hips continue to pump as we come down from our orgasms. When the last waves of pleasure subside, I roll us to the side so I’m not crushing her, my still semi-hard dick managing to stay inside her for a few moments longer.
Kay’s thumb brushes over the spot she bit. “I think that’s going to leave a mark.”
“Good.” I kiss the little V that’s formed between her brows in concern. “I’ll make sure to take my shirt off when I meet up with the guys to work out tomorrow.”
“Stop.” She gives a playful smack to my chest, and I pull her hand to my mouth, kissing the fingertips.
“Hell no. It’s proof that even though I’m wifed up, Casanova’s still got it.”
“Don’t be an ass,” she scolds.
I place a quick kiss to her pouting lips. With an arm scooped under her back, I lift her and flip us around so our heads are actually on the pillows instead of at the foot of the bed.
“Feeling any better?” I ask, smiling against the crown of her head.
“Mmmhmm.” Kay sighs and snuggles into me more.
I cherish moments like this when she’s pliant and pliable.
“Can I ask you something?” I curse myself when she tenses and smooth my hand down the length of her spine, tucking her against me tighter. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s just something I’ve been curious about for a while.”
“Oh-kay.” I hate that she still sounds hesitant.
“What’s the story behind the hang-loose thing?” Lazily I lift the arm not curled around her and wave my hand in the air like a Y.
“Oh my god.” My gaze falls to the way her breasts jiggle with her laughter. “That’s what you wanna know?”
“Yup.” I’ve sensed there’s a story behind the move and have been curious about it ever since.
Kay goes on to explain how the first year she and JT moved up to the Admirals, they were twelve—the youngest age allowed for that level—and were nervous as hell to cheer with the “bigger” kids (her words, not mine). It was hard, really hard to not crack a height joke.
“E was the only one able to talk me down when I would get so nervous I thought I would throw up,” she explains, going into great detail about how, at their first competition as Admirals, E jumped up and cheered like a loon until they found him in the stands. “When he saw us looking at him, he held his arm out, telling us to remember to hang loose.”
If I had heard this story before getting to know E on a personal level, I would have never believed it. It’s hard to imagine one of the biggest tight ends in the National Football League making a fool of himself at a cheer competition. Now though? I wouldn’t expect anything less with how resolute their family is in supporting each other.
“E actually made a comment about how special you must be to use our family tradition without even knowing its history,” she says around a yawn. “Can we go to sleep now?”
“Yeah, Skittles.” I chuckle and maneuver us under the covers.
“Love you, Caveman,” she mumbles with another yawn. She’s asleep before I can return the sentiment.
But I do love her. So fucking much. E may think I’m special, but I’ve known Kay was the special one from the day I