More Than Love You Read online

  “Because you’re driving me out of my mind. Oh, my god…” She bucks and tosses her hips up, trying to force me to put more pressure where she needs it.

  Perversely, I ease back. “You like this?”

  “I’ve never been much of a fan of receiving oral before but…wow.”

  That’s pretty forthcoming for Harlow, and I realize I must be getting to her if she blurted that. Vaguely, I wonder who are the inept assholes capable of botching oral pleasure. Whatever. They don’t matter now. I’ll show her what it should be and have a shit ton of fun doing it, too. I love being this close, this intimate, able to sense every rise in her pleasure way before she’s willing to admit it. Guys who don’t get the beauty of that are fucking losers.

  I give her a lingering look. “I’ve always been an enthusiastic giver, but you’re a special treat. I’m going to insist on more of this.”

  She doesn’t answer, just wriggles with the next drag of my tongue over her sensitive flesh. And the one following. She’s definitely close—right on the edge. This is the perfect time to press my position.

  “You’re going to give me more, right?”

  “What?” Her breathless question tells me she can barely follow the conversation, and I smile. Almost there…

  “You’ll spread your legs and let me put my mouth on your sweet pussy whenever I want, won’t you?”

  “Tonight? Yes. Hell yes.”

  “Tomorrow, too.” I caress her sensitive inner thighs with a drag of my thumbs up, then back down…just shy of her steely red clit. “I want tomorrow.”

  I don’t mention that will probably extend to the day after, too. Hell, probably the next week. Why not give myself plenty of time to really work this beauty out of my system?

  Providing such a thing is even possible. Maybe she’s simply my sexual Kryptonite, and I’ll always be willing to gnaw my way off my leash to have her. It’s a crazy thought, but if that ends up being true… Well, I’m willing to live with it if I can have her.

  Harlow doesn’t answer right away, so I stop everything. I let up stimulating all the nerve endings I’ve been skimming and strumming with my tongue. A split second later, she bolts up enough to grab my head in her hand and urge my mouth closer.

  I back away. “Promise me tomorrow, Harlow. Promise me a day with your legs spread and my feast waiting.”

  “Yes. Tomorrow. Whenever you want,” she concedes.

  I don’t think she knows just how serious I am…but she will. “And wherever I want.”

  I’m thinking hard about that long dining room table downstairs, about sitting at the head of it and pulling her right up to my chair so I can enjoy her like a meal. The more I visualize it, the more I want that.

  I’ve never in my life failed to pursue what I want until I get it. Harlow won’t be different.

  “If there’s privacy, yes.”

  I can appreciate that caveat. The last thing I need now is any sort of scandal threatening my future. I have to be squeaky clean to keep my endorsement deals, and especially if I’m even going to entertain the notion of accepting this broadcasting offer. I would never want to embarrass or jeopardize Harlow in public, either. But in private, I want to be dirty as hell with her.

  “Done,” I promise. “And I’ll hold you to it.”

  “Fine,” she pants. “Just make me come. Please…”

  Ah, those are the sweetest words. One little breathy plea, and my cock feels as if it’s ready to burst. I’m going to enjoy wringing even more begging out of her soon.

  “My pleasure, baby,” I assure her as I focus my undivided attention on her pussy again, lapping and licking, stroking, flicking, and nipping.

  Within seconds, she’s heaving air in and out of her lungs, every inhalation a bit louder as she keens her way up and up. Finally, her body freezes, her bliss breaks, and her voice splits into a wail that bounces off the walls, peals around the room, and fills my ears with the sweet sounds of her ecstasy.

  Nice to know she’s a screamer, after all.

  Her orgasm seems to go on forever, and her body bucks and shudders. I grip her hips, hold her down, and keep at her until I wring every last bit of shivering pleasure from her body. Until she falls limp against the mattress with an exhausted sigh.

  I can’t remember the last time satisfaction was so sweet—and I haven’t even found my own climax yet.

  “What did you do to me? My legs are Jell-O,” she murmurs.

  “How about the rest of you?” I ease away long enough to reach for a condom.

  A little smile spreads across her rosy lips. “I’m floating. But who knew I could see black spots and stars during climax?” She opens one eye to look at me. “I admit I was skeptical when the clothes started coming off, but you were amazing. Is that oral technique something they teach you in training camp? Maybe you learned how to lob the ball up one day and go down on a woman like a god the next?”

  I laugh. “I’m afraid training camp was never that entertaining. I might have liked it a whole lot better. But instead, I was trapped for weeks with sweaty dudes in hot climates, wishing like hell fall would hurry up.”

  “So you’re just naturally orally gifted, then?” She sighs and goes on as if she doesn’t expect me to reply. “I feel like a lucky girl.”

  “Good. Then you won’t regret agreeing to let me eat my fill of you tomorrow.” I give her a wide grin.

  Harlow struggles up onto her elbows. “You were serious?”

  “Why would you think I wasn’t?”

  “I just assumed it was…you know, sexy talk.”

  “Nope. I expect to have my mouth on you tomorrow whenever and wherever I want. You agreed.”

  She nods slowly, some of the flush receding from her cheeks and chest. “I did. You can go down on me, but since you haven’t had your orgasm yet, I think it’s the perfect time to make a bargain of my own. I’ll throw in sex now and whenever you want tomorrow—if you agree to let me help you with your post-concussive speech issues. If not, well… I got mine. I feel damn good. I could roll over and sleep like a baby all night now. How about you?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I sit back on my heels, staring at Harlow. Smart, sly woman. I did not see her turning the tables on me…and I should have. She seems like the sort of woman who gives as good as she gets—plus a bit more to let people know she means business.

  “I don’t have speech issues.” The words come out more clipped than I mean them to.

  “So you don’t have more difficulty speaking when you’re tired or nervous or in stressful situations? So it hasn’t been holding you back from conversations, social situations, or maybe even future career plans? I saw a rumor on the Internet that several networks are looking to bring you on to their broadcasting team and that you haven’t indicated your interest one way or the other. Most people suspect it’s a ploy to wheedle more money out of them, but I think you’re worried about being able to actually do the job. You don’t want your legacy to be the once-in-a-lifetime quarterback who sucked in the broadcasting booth, do you?”

  I drop the condom. “I’m not talking about this now. I’ve got a hard-on from hell, and I thought we were having sex. Did you change your mind?”

  “No. I really, really want you inside me.” Her face softens. “But I want to help you, too. And I can.”

  “Why do you give a shit?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have earned a master’s degree in speech pathology if I didn’t have a passion for the subject and didn’t want to help people improve all the verbal, listening, and processing aspects of their lives. You have a great voice. You clearly know the game. All your fans think you’d be amazing as a commentator. I also think you’re too young to retire and live for decades off your glory days.”

  “I have the money.”

  “Clearly, or you couldn’t have afforded this house. That’s not what I’m saying. I just can’t picture you sitting idly until you’re too old to care what people think. That doesn’t seem like yo
u. If it was, you would never have reached the pinnacle of professional sports and led your team to multiple Super Bowl victories. And your Wikipedia bio says you’ve been playing your whole life. So I ask myself, if a man like this can’t play anymore, how could he lend his expertise and be an ambassador for his sport? And what would hold him back from saying an obvious yes?”

  Goddamn it, she’s seen right through me. I feel way more exposed in the wake of her little speech than I do sitting in front of her stark naked. “Harlow…”

  “Let me try. That’s all I’m asking. It’s a win-win for both of us. If I help you past your current challenges, then you have a great second career. If I don’t, at least you won’t be wondering what if. You’ll know because you’ll have tried. And if I succeed in helping you, then I get a step up professionally. Speech following traumatic brain injury is sort of my thing. I was looking to help children, but this would look great on my resumé. I don’t see the downside here.”

  Other than my utter humiliation at being broken? She’s right.

  “And the truth is,” she goes on, “I don’t think I’m ready to go back to San Diego. There’s a lot going on back home. Drama I just don’t need. But I’m not one to sit idle, either. I’ve done it for a month now and I’m bored silly. Working with you would keep us both occupied and making progress toward a better future.”

  “What about sex?”

  She gives me a big grin. “It could be a great side benefit.”

  I’m considering her words really hard. Harlow would have made a hell of a litigator because she knows exactly when and how to press her point to maximum advantage. “Let’s say I’m thinking about this.”

  The satisfied rise of her brows tells me she thinks she’s won. Hell, she probably has. But…I’d have to confront the problems I’ve been avoiding for months. Which is probably smarter than burying my head in the sand. Even so, I’m not so sure I want every jock junkie and Sports Illustrated reader knowing about my deficiency.

  On the other hand, what if some of my peers or teammates have been suffering in silence, too? What if I make enough progress to take this job and can use my mic and the network’s platform to give other players, past and present, hope?

  Plus I’ll get to fuck Harlow now. And later, too. Like she said, win-win.

  I sigh and hope I’m making the right decision—or rather that the right head is making it. “All right.”

  A big smile perks up her face before something more cautious takes over. “It’s not an overnight process, though. I can’t wave my magic wand or anything.”

  “How long?”

  She shrugs. “Hard to say. I need to have some idea how much you’re impaired and what your triggers are. Obviously, when you’re tired.”

  “Especially then.”

  “And if you’re going to be jetting across time zones to cover games, that’s likely to be a lot. Does it happen when you’re nervous, too? I was guessing but…”

  I shrug. “I haven’t tested that.”

  I haven’t been willing to, but if being a little rattled affects my ability to find words, I won’t be terribly surprised.

  “I’ll need to do a few assessments on you to be sure exactly what I’m dealing with but I have a decent idea. How long before you have to know whether you want to take this kind of job?”

  “About a month. Maybe six weeks if I push it.”

  She nods. “We’ll have to work fast—and diligently. I think it’s important we replicate situations that may challenge you and work on your speech then.”

  “You mean therapy when I’m tired or nervous?”

  “Exactly. So maybe late at night or really early in the morning, in stressful situations. That kind of thing. It will require some planning but it will ultimately be worth it, I think. It will definitely be the best way to help you progress and see where you might need a little more focus.”

  A stroke of genius streaks through my brain.

  “You should stay here while we work. I have plenty of room, and neither of us will have to be driving to the other in the middle of the night.” When she looks uncertain, I press my advantage. “I need a therapist and you need place to stay where you’re not hearing your brothers making babies. Win-win,” I toss her words back at her.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Totally.”

  She shifts and stretches. “Let’s do it.”

  The conversation is over. And with that visual of her dark hair spreading over my white sheets, I lose my patience with talk.

  “I’ll call my attorney and have a contract drawn up,” I murmur as I prowl my way up her body, spreading her legs with my knees and making some mental notes about clauses to insert to make the most of having Harlow close. “How about we get back to the situation at”—I pause when she wraps her fingers around my stiff, aching cock—“ah…hand.”

  Everything this woman does to me feels new and mind-blowing—like an experience I’m going to want to repeat.

  Harlow grins as she teases me with tormentingly slow strokes. “You mean sex?”

  “Yeah,” I choke out, fisting the condom wrapper so hard the corner of the foil packet jabs my palm. “I need to be inside you.”

  “But I want to explore you and—”

  “Later,” I bark as I loom above her and rip the square open with my teeth. “Let me fuck you, then you can do whatever you want to me.”

  The laugh that slips past her lips is light and infectious, but I can’t share in the jolly while she’s jacking up my need with that molasses stroke. Instead, I’m single-minded as I get the condom open and roll it down my length. Then—finally—I press my naked body on hers and turn my entire focus her way. My hot stare drills down into her eyes as I settle my full weight between her legs.

  As I glide my cock against her slick sex, her laughter dies. “Noah?”

  The tremble in her voice both worries and thrills me. But her expression doesn’t convey fear at all, just pure sexual desire.

  “What, baby?”

  “Hurry.”

  So despite that massive orgasm I gave her five minutes ago, she’s already restless and achy again? Excellent.

  I clench my fingers in her hair. “Absolutely.”

  When I dip my head to capture her lips, I root around to align my cock with her soft opening. As if she were a magnet for my iron-hard dick, I find the right spot almost immediately and begin to sink the head inside. I test my welcome—an inch in, an inch out. Repeat the process. She’s like warmed silk gripping me, and when she rolls her hips and digs her nails into my back in silent demand for more, I can’t stop the groan that tears from my chest.

  I also can’t stop myself from plunging completely into her with one harsh, teeth-baring stroke. But once I’m in? Oh, god… Have I ever felt anything half as euphoric as being inside Harlow? I’m thinking she must feel the same since she gives me a long moan and tosses her head back. Her lips part. Her nails pierce my skin. Her legs wrap around me tight. Her pussy envelops me like a wet dream.

  I want to do her slow and do her right, hold out until she comes a couple of times, chanting my name in dazed satisfaction. The minute I feel her all around me, I know that’s not going to happen.

  “I won’t hold back.”

  “Thank god,” she breathes.

  “Grab on tight.”

  She grips my shoulders with even more insistent fingers as I drag my palms down her body to lift her hips into my waiting hands. I watch her face. Harlow meets my stare. Her eyes are a dark, hypnotic green, and I’m ensnared. I’m ensorcelled.

  I’m screwed.

  That’s my last thought before I crash into her, full force, one unrelenting stroke after another—until the bed rattles, until she begins to flush rosy once more, until she makes the sexiest little whimpers at the back of her throat. Until she tightens on me like she’s close to climax.

  Pleasure isn’t even the right word to describe the sensations coursing through my body and screaming down my spine
. It’s more than bliss, more than ecstasy. It’s not like anything I’ve ever felt. I’m dizzy. I’m breathless. Every inch of my skin feels seared with fiery tingles. But it’s worse because I swear I feel her inside me, too. Like she’s squeezing my thudding heart. Like she’s cutting a deep valley through my soul.

  What the hell is going on?

  I don’t know but I can’t stop. I’m compelled to thrust deeper, harder, build the need higher. And as if some force bigger than both of us is coercing her, too, she nips at my shoulder, kisses my neck, skimming her lips over my jaw, all but trying to inhale me.

  It’s the single most erotic experience of my life.

  Unfortunately, it can’t last. I’m burning too hot, too bright. Too close to the edge.

  “Harlow?” I growl out the question between a hard thrust and the next, which is even rougher. I can’t stop drilling into her. It’s as if some primal part of me is convinced I can somehow leave my stamp of ownership on her and make her mine.

  “Now,” she keens out. “Please. Oh…yes!”

  Suddenly, she convulses around me, and I’m a split second behind her, lava charging through my veins and jetting from my cock.

  I’m dying, and it’s the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. My vision closes in on only Harlow. My breath bellows. My body pumps of its own volition—whatever it takes to get closer to this woman. The sensations are like a brick wall slamming me at a hundred miles an hour and flattening me, but it’s not pain I feel. No, she leaves me with the most amazing high. I want to feel it again right now.

  Hi, my name is Noah Weston and I’m an addict. Harlow is my drug of choice.

  Admitting the problem might be the first step, but I don’t want to recover. In fact, I don’t want to change a thing—except to get more of her. Instantly, I start planning to get as much of this woman as I possibly can.

  The following morning, I sit up abruptly. A glance around tells me I’m alone. The bathroom door is open. There’s no one in the adjacent walk-in closet or on the balcony overlooking the majestic Pacific.

  “Harlow?” I call her name in low, experimental tones.