Page 84 of Cherry Picking

“Does that feel good?” I growl, increasing the pace until she’s whimpering my name.

I drop to my knees behind her, dragging the silk hem of that dress up to her waist, and bury my face in her cunt.

She tastes like every dream I’ve had since Christmas—sweet, salty, and warm. I lap at her until she trembles, her white-knuckled fingers clinging tightly to the edge of the sink, before I stand back up behind her.

Unbuckling my belt, I strip off my pants and boxers, kicking them aside as my cock pulses with anticipation. I recall our conversation and the reassurance that we were safe, yet I pause with the tip resting right at her entrance.

“Birth control?” I manage to rasp.

She bends further, pushing her cunt onto the hard length of me.

“Copper IUD,” she pants. “Now, fuck me, Briggs.”

I seat myself fully, the friction so punishingly perfect I actually forget how to breathe. I yank my shirt over my head, desperate to feel her bare flesh against my own. I fuck into her slowly, the heat electric, our shared wetness coating her thighs.

From this angle, her pussy is a gorgeous, swollen ruin as it stretches to accommodate every inch I have. On the next thrust, I wind a hand into her copper hair, fisting the strands, while my other palm bruises her hip.

In the mirror, her eyes come open and find mine, and she holds them there while I drive into her. It’s a beautiful, desperate collision of skin.

I haven’t been inside a woman in two years, but I don’t think it’s ever felt this fucking euphoric. Evie is the only version of right I’ve found in a decade—sharp and soft at once, and entirely mine, at least for now.

We’re going to be embarrassingly late for Hartwell’s, though I can’t bring myself to care. In fact, I have half a mind to bail on the dinner—bail on tomorrow’s game, too—and just stay right here, burying myself in this sweet, demanding pussy until the weekend ends.

“When this season is over,” I whisper, my thumb finding her clit, “I’m going to spend weeks just like this. Inside you. Fucking you until we both forget what month it is.”

“I look forward to the amnesia,” she whispers back.

I nip at the sensitive skin of her neck until she stops talking, and then I lose myself in her all over again.

CHAPTER 24

EVIE

We’re nearly an hour late to Sam Hartwell’s because Briggs lost the ability to operate a door handle once he was done fucking me in front of the bathroom mirror.

“They’re going to know exactly why we’re late,” I say from his passenger seat.

“Probably.” He backs the truck out and navigates onto a street where the massive oaks are so ancient they lean over the asphalt to whisper to each other. “Augie can always tell. He’s like a truffle pig for everyone’s secrets.”

While Briggs’s place was nice, Myers Park feels like a different dimension. The houses retreat behind brick walls and manicured boxwood, and every lawn is that impossible, deep-sea green. In February, when my entire city is the color of a paper grocery bag.

Hartwell’s driveway itself is large enough to host a viewing in. There are already half a dozen SUVs waiting there by the time we pull up.

“You said this was gonna be a low-key dinner,” I remind him.

“It is.”

“This looks like a party, Briggs.”

“It’s just the inner circle.” He cuts the engine and studies me. “You’re not going to bolt, are you?”

“Mm, I think I can handle a defenseman’s living room.”

He does a tight, clicking thing with his jaw.

“Hey.” I catch his hand before he can flee the car. “I’m good. Are you good?”

“I’m good,” he replies. “Just haven’t done this before.”