OBSESSED Series

Chapter 36

“Yes,” I gasp, my nipples peaking painfully, my femininity clenching. Lubricating.

Our hands knock together to push aside fabric. Down come his football pants and my underwear. We surge back together, mouths clashing, me sobbing, him whispering prayers. He fists his erection and I lift my hips, taking him inside me one inch at a time until he’s growling deep in his chest, his eyes rolled back in his head. “Jesus Christ. Going to have the tightest little wife in town, aren’t I? Show me what I’m getting,” he begs feverishly against my mouth. “Give me a preview of the rest of our lives so I stop thinking about you leaving me. Please.”

Overcome by love, lust, responsibility, adoration, I lean down and bury my teeth in his thick shoulder, my lower body circling once, twice, three times until he’s panting and then I start to buck my hips, loosening the base of my spine so I can snap back and grind forward with the right amount of force and friction, pumping him in and out of me, root to tip.

“Fuck!” Gage shouts through his teeth, his hands on my butt, urging, urging, slapping. “You make it so perfect. You make everything perfect.”

“And you make me happy,” I whisper, our foreheads meeting, eyes locking.

“That’s all I want to do, Stella,” he rasps, his voice heavy with emotion. “Let me.”

My lips curl into a smile against his mouth, a breathy moan leaving me, hips moving faster. Faster. “This is a very good start.”

His rich laugh washes over me and then I’m being pinned onto the seat face up, my future husband looming over me. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Stella.”

The truck doesn’t stop rocking for hours.

Five Years Later

Belting my robe, I walk to the bedroom window and look down at the circular driveway, grimacing when a man holding a leather briefcase climbs out of an SUV.

I am not happy about this.

I hate interviews and I don’t like people in my house around my wife and kids. I give enough energy out on the field, there is no reason journalists have to come snooping in my business when I’m off the clock. Unfortunately, Stella and I are constantly hounded by news people who want an exclusive story from us. Not about football. About our relationship. It has become a source of fascination among the public and the interest is not going away. No, it’s at a fever pitch now. Stella thinks if we lay all of our cards on the table and give an exclusive to Vanity Fair, they’ll stop calling and making their endless requests. More importantly, the paparazzi will stop following my Stella everywhere she goes.

My hand turns into a fist on the windowsill.

Last week, she was so blinded by flashes, she almost crashed her car leaving the parking lot at the university where she teaches. I thought security was airtight, but these vermin keep finding a way back in. They keep finding a way to harass my girl.

Mine.

Mine.

I close my eyes and breathe through the wave of possessiveness, counting to ten like I practiced with Stella. When we were first married five years ago, I would have punched through this window during bouts of greediness where Stella is concerned. Once our son and daughter were born, though, I had to start working on controlling the emotions Stella inspires in me. They’re still razor sharp and raw, but I’m not quite as destructive. Progress.

Sensing movement behind me, I turn to find the object of my obsession coming out of our walk-in closet, humming absently and putting on an earring. Oh my God, is she ever beautiful. She’s wearing a new dress. A silk one. Blue. It hugs her all over, especially in the ass.

Mine.

The center of my chest twists into a knot, my abdomen knitting together in anticipation of fucking. Christ, I am dying for a lick of her little wet pussy. She always begs for a rough pound after I’ve been feasting between her legs and that’s exactly what I’m in the mood for. A good, sweaty bang, Stella’s legs trembling around my waist, titties bouncing for Daddy.

God yes.

I start to unbelt my robe, but she catches sight of me and tilts her head. “Is that what you’re wearing for the interview? It starts in two minutes.”

A growl works its way free of my throat. “It’s our goddamn house. I’ll wear my damn robe if I want to.”

She’s battling a smile. “Okay.”

“I’m not annoyed at you,” I say quickly. “It’s all for them.”

“I know.”

“They hound you, honey.”