It’s safe to say I’m officially over my aversion to basketball players.
Or maybe this newfound appreciation for them is all about Jace?
Oh yeah. Definitely just Jace.
I can’t take my eyes off of him during the practice, my fingers curled into the edge of the seat, legs crossed beneath my skirt to hide panties that dampen every time he barks an authoritative order on the court. My pulse flutters in more than just my veins, there is a pulse between my thighs that beats in a low, tumultuous rhythm, my entire body feeling hot and flushed.
Lord, the way he moves is so fluid. A little bit cocky, but focused.
He lifts his T-shirt to wipe sweat from his brow, briefly revealing that gloriously chiseled stomach and I barely trap a moan, squeezing my legs together.
I need him inside of me.
Now
