Chapter 2: Earn it, Quarterback
The lock clicked home with a sound like a snapped bone.
Ty's mouth was already on hers again, hungrier now, the low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands clamped down on her ass. The worn denim did nothing to hide the shape of her—small, firm, the muscle underneath shifting as she rolled her hips into him. He squeezed, fingers digging in, and she made a sound that was half laugh, half moan, vibrating against his teeth.
"Boots," she muttered against his lips. "Hold on."
She toed them off without looking, one heel, then the other, the thud of leather hitting the floor swallowed by the wet, messy sounds of their kiss. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and yanked, dragging it up the ridged plane of his stomach. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head, and then her palms were flat against his chest, sliding up, fingers tracing the hard slabs of his pecs, the sparse hair, the dip at his collarbone. She pulled back an inch, eyes hooded, and just looked at him.
"You're built like a fucking billboard," she said.
Ty grinned, that cocky, crooked grin that sold magazines. "You're not so bad yourself, Mitchell."
"Shut up."
She kissed him again before he could, tongue sliding against his, and her hands moved around his back, nails dragging light lines down the valleys of muscle flanking his spine. He was warm, ridiculously warm, and he smelled like soap and whiskey and something sharper underneath, something that was just him. She wanted to bite him. She settled for dragging her teeth along his bottom lip, and he rewarded her with a low, guttural sound that went straight to her cunt.
Then his hands were under her thighs and he was lifting her like she was made of nothing, her legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The kiss didn't break. He walked her backward through the suite, the golden city lights sliding across the walls in long streaks, and she felt the edge of the bed against the back of his calves a second before he tipped them both over.
They landed with a bounce, Ty flat on his back, Kara sprawled on top of him, and the impact pushed a huff of air from his lungs that turned into a laugh.
"Graceful," she said, already shifting, already finding the hard ridge of his cock through his jeans. She pressed down with her hips and ground against him, and the friction through the layers of denim and cotton was fucking electric, a sharp, teasing promise of what was coming.
"Oh, you're going to be a problem," Ty said, but he was still grinning, and his hands were already moving up her sides, pushing her shirt toward her armpits.
She sat up, straddling him, and pulled the shirt the rest of the way off herself, tossing it over her shoulder. The cool air of the room hit her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms, and Ty went still beneath her.
"Christ," he said, quiet, almost reverent.
The black lace bra was simple, not fancy, but it cupped her small breasts like a second skin, the thin straps cutting over her shoulders and the underwire a stark line against pale flesh. Her nipples were already hard, pressing against the sheer fabric, and Ty's hands came up to cover them, thumbs dragging slow circles over the peaks. She arched into his touch, her head falling back, a soft, breathy moan escaping her throat.
His hands slid lower, palms flat against her stomach, and she flexed under him on purpose, letting him feel the iron-hard ridges of her abs, the deep line down the center that she'd earned through years of crunches and G-force bracing and pure stubbornness. He traced the grid with his fingertips like he was reading braille.
"That's just showing off," he murmured.
"You're one to talk." She looked down at him, at the broad shoulders and the sculpted chest and the way his jeans were straining across the thick muscle of his thighs, and something hot and greedy curled in her belly. "I want to see the rest."
She slid off him, down between his legs, settling onto her knees on the plush rug beside the bed. Her fingers found his belt buckle—a heavy silver thing—and made quick work of it, the leather hissing through the loops. She popped the button on his jeans and pulled the zipper down with a sharp, deliberate tug, and then she was hooking her fingers into the waistband of both denim and cotton and pulling them down his hips.
He lifted his ass to help her, and she dragged the jeans and boxers down his thighs, past his knees, and off. His cock sprang free, long and thick and hard, the head a deep, angry pink and already glistening at the tip. It curved up toward his stomach, and the sight of it—of him—made Kara's mouth go dry and her pussy clench around nothing.
"Fuck," she breathed.
She wrapped her hand around him and couldn't close her fingers all the way. Her thumb and middle finger didn't meet, there was still a gap, and she let out a breathless laugh.
"You're big everywhere, aren't you."
Ty propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "Never had any complaints."
"Don't get smug." She tightened her grip and gave him a slow, deliberate pump, base to tip, watching the way his jaw went tight and his hips twitched forward. A bead of pre-cum welled at the slit and she swiped it with her thumb, using it to slick her stroke. "You talk too much, Brooks."
He opened his mouth to say something—probably something smug—and she took him into her mouth before he could.
The taste of him hit her tongue, salty and sharp, and she closed her lips around the head and sucked, hard. Ty's words died in his throat with a strangled groan, his hands flying to her hair, fingers tangling in the short, dark strands. She didn't go slow. She took him deep, as deep as she could, the head of his cock bumping the back of her throat, and then she pulled back until only the tip was resting on her tongue, teasing, before sliding down again.
"Fuck, Kara—" His voice was strained, barely a rasp, and his grip on her hair tightened. "Jesus, you—"
She hummed around him in response, the vibration making his hips jerk, and then she set a rhythm. Up and down, her hand working the base where her mouth couldn't reach, her tongue pressing flat against the thick vein that ran along the underside. Spit dripped down her chin, filthy and wet, and the sounds she made were obscene—slurping, gagging, the wet suction of her cheeks hollowing around him.
Ty's head fell back against the mattress, his chest heaving, and his hands were guiding her now, not pushing, just following her rhythm, his fingers flexing against her skull.
"God, your mouth," he gasped. "Your fucking mouth, Kara, I'm gonna—"
She pulled off him with a wet pop, her lips swollen and slick, and looked up at him with a grin that was all teeth.
"No, you're not."
His eyes snapped open, hazy and desperate. "What?"
She stroked him slowly while she spoke, almost lazily, the exact opposite of the pace she'd had a second ago, and watched him twitch in her grip. "I said you're not gonna come. Not yet."
"You're fucking evil," he managed.
"Mm." She pressed her thumb against the sensitive spot just beneath the head, and his hips bucked. "You want to come, you earn it. In my mouth or in my pussy, but you don't get to choose. I do."
She punctuated the last word with a slow drag of her tongue up the shaft, and Ty let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper. "You're a goddamn menace, Mitchell."
"Lieutenant Mitchell to you." She winked, and then she stood up.
Ty watched her, propped on his elbows, as she unbuttoned her jeans and shoved them down her hips. They were tight, and she had to shimmy a little to get them past her ass, and she did it with a deliberate, unhurried slowness that was absolutely for his benefit. The jeans hit the floor. She stepped out of them and stood there in her black lace thong and the matching bra and her black socks, and she watched his eyes move over her—down the length of her legs, back up to the lace digging into her hipbones, lingering on the damp spot spreading through the thin fabric between her thighs.
"Get back up here," Ty said, and his voice was rough, stripped of the easy charm.
She climbed onto the bed, straddling him again, and this time when she leaned down to kiss him, his hands went straight to her hips, holding her in place as he rocked up against her. The lace of her thong was soaking, and the drag of his bare cock against the soaked fabric made her gasp into his mouth.
"Fuck," she whispered against his lips. "You feel—"
"Yeah." His voice was tight. "I know."
One hand slid around to the front, fingers hooking under the thin waistband of her thong. He found her slick and hot, and she bit his lip when his middle finger slid between her folds, dragging through the wetness before circling her clit. She moaned, long and low, and rocked her hips into his hand.
"That's it," he murmured. "You're so fucking wet, baby. Is this all for me?"
"Don't flatter yourself." But she was breathless, and her thighs were trembling.
He pushed a finger inside her—just one, but it was enough to make her gasp, her walls clamping down, and he pumped it slowly, curling it up to find that spot that made her see stars. She broke the kiss and pressed her forehead to his, breathing hard, her hips moving in rhythm with his hand.
"Two," she said. "I can take more."
He added a second finger, and she hissed through her teeth at the stretch, the delicious fullness of it. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing tight, slippery circles, and she was already so close—her orgasm was a tight, hot knot in her lower belly, winding tighter with every stroke.
And then she pulled away.
Ty made a frustrated sound, his fingers sliding out of her, and she sat up, grabbing both his wrists and pinning them to the mattress above his head. She leaned down over him, her breasts brushing against his chest, and her smile was a dark, sharp thing.
"Not yet," she said again. "You're not in charge here, Brooks."
"Then who is?"
She rolled her hips, grinding her wet, lace-covered cunt against the hard length of his cock, and watched his eyes roll back.
"I am."
She did it again, a long, slow drag, and Ty's hands clenched into fists above his head. His whole body was tense, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts, and she could feel him straining not to break free of her grip—not because he couldn't, but because some part of him wanted to see how far she'd take this.
"You're gonna pay for this," he growled.
"Promise?" She ground down harder, and the wet lace slid against him, and she moaned, her eyes fluttering. "Because I'm just getting started."
She held his wrists with one hand and used the other to push the wet crotch of her thong aside, letting the bare head of his cock press against her entrance. Not inside. Just there. Just enough to feel the heat and the wet and the promise of it.
"Tell me you want it," she said.
"I want it."
She circled her hips, just barely, the tip of him catching on her folds. "You're gonna have to do better than that."
"Tell me I can touch you," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word. "Kara, God, please—"
"You can touch me."
His hands were on her instantly, one palm flat against her stomach, the other sliding up to cup her breast through the lace bra. His thumb dragged over her nipple, and she arched into it, her mouth falling open. He pushed the cup aside and pinched the hard peak between his fingers, rolling it, tugging, and she cried out and ground down against him again.
But she wasn't done teasing. Not by a long shot. She lifted off him, ignoring his groan of frustration, and shifted up his body until her knees were on either side of his head.
"What are you—"
She pulled her thong to the side and lowered herself onto his face.
The first swipe of his tongue made her whole body jolt. He didn't need instructions—he knew exactly what he was doing, licking up through her folds, lapping at her clit, working her with a sloppy, hungry enthusiasm that spoke to years of practice. Kara grabbed the headboard and rocked into his mouth, her thighs shaking, and he gripped her ass to hold her in place, pulling her down harder, his tongue pushing inside her.
She came like that, with her hands on the headboard and Ty's mouth buried in her cunt, a long, shuddering orgasm that rolled through her like a wave. It was almost too much—he kept going, lapping at her through the aftershocks, until she had to pull away, oversensitive and gasping.
"Fuck," she wheezed. "Okay. Okay. You earned that."
Ty wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her with dark, satisfied eyes. "Bet your ass I did."
She climbed off him, kicking her thong down her legs and leaving it in a black lace puddle on the floor. Then she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back onto the mattress, climbing over him, settling her hips over his.
"The deal's the deal," she said, reaching down to guide him to her entrance. "You made me come. Now I make you come."
She sank down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion, and it was so much—too much—the stretch of him splitting her open, filling her deeper than she'd ever been filled. She had to stop halfway, panting, her nails digging into his chest.
"Holy shit," she gasped.
"Don't stop," Ty said, and his hands were on her hips, guiding her, not pushing, just urging. "You can take it. You're the one who wanted this."
"I know what I wanted." She took the rest of him in one sharp thrust that made them both cry out. "God. Fuck. You're so—you're in my fucking lungs."
Ty laughed, breathless and strained. "Is that a compliment?"
"Shut up."
She started moving, riding him with a rhythm that was fast and hard and completely devoid of grace. The bed was creaking, the headboard slamming against the wall, and she didn't care, didn't care about the hotel neighbors or the squad or tomorrow or anything except the way he felt inside her, the way his cock dragged against her walls with every stroke, the way his thumb found her clit again and pressed, tight and wet, sending her spiraling toward a second orgasm.
"Come for me," he said. "Come on, Mitchell. Let me feel you."
And she did. She buried her face in his neck and came with a cry that was muffled against his skin, her whole body clenching around him, and Ty followed a heartbeat later, his hips jerking up into her as he spilled himself deep inside, his hands gripping her ass hard enough to bruise.
They stayed like that for a long moment, both of them shaking, breathing hard, the sweat cooling on their skin. Then Kara rolled off him and flopped onto her back beside him, staring up at the ceiling.
"Jesus Christ," she said.
Ty turned his head to look at her. "That's it? No smartass comment?"
"Nope." She was grinning, wide and bright, the way she never let anyone see back on base. "My brain's not working. You broke it."
He laughed, a real laugh, and reached over to grab her hand. "So. You want me to call you a cab?"
She turned her head to look at him, and something in her chest tightened. He was supposed to be just another guy. Another story her squadron would never let her live down. But he was looking at her like she was something special, and his thumb was tracing absent circles on the back of her hand, and she didn't want to leave.
"No," she said. "I've got an early flight. But I've got a few more hours."
Ty's grin softened into something almost vulnerable. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She rolled onto her side, facing him, and propped her head on her hand. "So don't get any ideas about cuddling."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The air in the room had gone still, heavy with the smell of sex and sweat and the faint, clean bite of the hotel's expensive soap. Kara lay on her back, one arm flung over her eyes, her chest still rising and falling in a rhythm that hadn't quite returned to normal. The sheet was tangled somewhere around her ankles, and the city lights from the floor-to-ceiling windows painted long, golden stripes across the ceiling.
She felt the mattress shift.
Ty rolled toward her, and before she could move or speak or make some smartass comment about personal space, his arm came around her waist and pulled her against him. Her back met his chest, her ass settled into the curve of his hips, and his chin came to rest on the top of her head. The whole thing happened in one fluid motion, like he'd done it a thousand times, like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing.
Kara went rigid for half a second. Old habit. She didn't do this part. The aftermath was for grabbing her jeans, finding her boots, calling a cab, and getting the hell out before anyone got the wrong idea. But Ty's arm was heavy and warm across her stomach, and his breathing was slow and even against her hair, and she found herself relaxing into him before her brain could lodge a formal complaint. She fit against him like she belonged there, the curve of her spine nestled into the hard plane of his chest, her smaller frame swallowed up by his.
"You're warm," she muttered. It came out sounding almost accusatory.
"Thanks. It's the blood flow."
She snorted. "That's disgusting."
"You're the one who—"
"Don't finish that sentence."
He laughed, low and rumbling, and she felt it vibrate through his chest and into her back. His hand moved, just a little, thumb tracing lazy patterns on the bare skin of her stomach. She had abs like a washboard and skin that was still slick with sweat, and he was touching her like she was something soft. It was disorienting. It was also, she realized with a small, private thrill, kind of nice.
She shifted her hips, adjusting her position, and her ass brushed against his cock. Still hard. Not the desperate, straining hardness from before, but thick and heavy and unmistakably interested. She felt it twitch against her lower back, and a slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
"Brooks," she said, her voice going low and syrupy. "Are you seriously still hard right now?"
"Give me a break. It's been like four minutes."
"Four minutes and you're already back for round two?" She pressed her ass back against him, deliberate and slow, grinding the soft curve of her cheeks along the length of him. He hissed through his teeth, and his hand on her stomach tightened. "What's the matter, big guy? Didn't get enough the first time?"
"You're playing with fire, Mitchell."
"Am I?" She rolled her hips again, a lazy, teasing motion, and felt him swell against her. "Because from where I'm lying, it feels like you're the one who's about to beg."
A low growl rumbled in his chest. "You've got a filthy mouth."
"You have no idea." She reached back and wrapped her fingers around his cock, giving it a slow, firm stroke. He was hot and hard and sticky with the evidence of what they'd already done, and the feel of him in her hand made her own cunt clench with fresh want. "You want me to tell you what I'm thinking about?"
"Yeah." His voice was rough. "Tell me."
"I'm thinking about how good you felt inside me." She pumped him again, root to tip, and spread the slickness around the head with her thumb. "I'm thinking about how deep you got. How you stretched me open so fucking good I could feel you in my throat."
"Jesus—"
"I'm thinking about how I want you to do it again." She turned her head, just enough that her lips brushed his jaw. "But this time, I want you to stop being polite about it."
Ty went still for a heartbeat. Then his hand moved from her stomach to her hip, gripping hard, and he rolled them both.
Kara landed on her back with a startled laugh, her hair a dark mess against the pillow, her eyes bright and wild. Ty was above her, propped on one arm, looking down at her with an expression that was equal parts hunger and something darker. Something that made her pulse spike.
"You want me to stop being polite," he repeated. It wasn't a question.
"Did I stutter?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached down and took himself in hand, dragging the head of his cock through the wet, swollen folds of her pussy. Kara gasped and arched into him, but he didn't push inside. He just slid through her slickness, up and down, coating himself in her, teasing her clit with the broad head every time he passed over it.
"Ty—" She grabbed his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. "Stop fucking teasing."
"I'm not teasing." His voice was tight, controlled. "I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About the fact that I already came inside you once." He said it flatly, no shame in it, but his jaw was tense and his eyes were serious. "And I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not exactly small. If we keep going like that, there's a chance—"
Kara blinked. Then she started laughing.
It wasn't a mean laugh. It was a real one, surprised and warm, and it made Ty frown down at her in confusion.
"What?" he demanded.
"You're worried about getting me pregnant." She was still grinning, her hands sliding up from his shoulders to cup his face. "That's—that's actually kind of sweet. In a completely depraved, back-alley kind of way."
"I'm serious, Kara."
"I know you are." She pulled his face down and kissed him, quick and hard. "I'm on the pill. Have been for years. You're not gonna knock me up, Brooks. So unless you've got some other reason to hold back—"
She didn't get to finish.
He pushed inside her in one hard, driving thrust, and the words died in her throat with a strangled cry. He didn't ease in. He didn't give her time to adjust. He just took, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal motion that made the headboard slam against the wall.
Kara's vision went white at the edges.
"Fuck—" The word came out as a sob, her back bowing off the mattress, her legs wrapping around his waist on pure instinct. He was so deep. Deeper than before. Every inch of him was splitting her open, and it was too much, it was exactly right, it was everything.
Ty didn't give her a second to breathe. He pulled out and slammed back in, and then he was fucking her, really fucking her, with a rhythm that was relentless and punishing and absolutely without mercy. His hand came up and shoved the lace cup of her bra out of the way, palming her breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching her nipple hard enough to make her yelp.
"You wanted this," he growled. "You wanted me to stop being polite."
"Yes—" She could barely form words. "Yes, fuck, don't stop—"
He caught her legs and pushed them back, hooking her socked feet over his shoulders, and the angle changed. Now he was hitting something deep inside her, some spot that made stars explode behind her eyes, and she screamed. Actually screamed, loud and unabashed, her hands fisting in the sheets.
"Right there," she gasped. "Right there, fuck, right there—"
He gave it to her. Over and over, hard and fast, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing off the hotel walls. She was babbling now, a stream of filth pouring out of her mouth between moans, telling him how good his cock felt, how she wanted him to wreck her, how she was going to come all over him if he didn't stop.
"Your pussy's so fucking tight," he grunted. "Taking all of me, greedy little thing—"
"Your fault," she managed. "You made me like this—"
He laughed, breathless and dark, and then he pulled out.
Kara made a sound of protest that was swallowed by the sudden, rough motion of him flipping her onto her stomach. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the small of her back with one hand, his grip iron-tight, and used the other to fist in her hair, dragging her head back. She was on her knees now, ass up, face pressed into the pillow, completely at his mercy.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Fuck you."
"That's the idea."
He drove into her from behind, and Kara screamed again. The angle was different, deeper somehow, and her pinned arms and the hand in her hair meant she couldn't move, couldn't do anything but take it. He was pounding her into the mattress, using her like she was his to use, and she loved it. She loved every single second of it.
"Harder," she begged. "God, Ty, harder—"
He gave her harder. His hips snapped against her ass with a force that would leave bruises, and the hand in her hair pulled tighter, and then he brought his free hand down on her ass cheek with a sharp, cracking smack.
Kara yelped. Then she moaned.
"Do that again."
He did. Again and again, alternating cheeks, until her ass was stinging and hot and she was sobbing with pleasure. She came like that, with her wrists pinned and her hair pulled and Ty spanking her like she'd been bad, and it was one of the best orgasms of her life.
But he didn't stop.
"Too much," she gasped. "Ty, I can't—"
"You can." His voice was ragged, strained. "You wanted this. Take it."
He kept going, fucking her through the aftershocks, and Kara's protests turned into mindless moans. She was oversensitive, every nerve ending raw and sparking, and he was still hammering into her like a man possessed. Her fifth orgasm was building, a low, deep pressure that she wasn't sure she could survive.
Then his hand moved. He reached around and unclasped her bra with a quick flick of his fingers, and before she could process what was happening, he'd pulled it off her and looped it around her throat. Not tight enough to cut off air. Just tight enough to make her feel it, the lace pressing against her skin, his grip on the ends a constant reminder of who was in control.
"There she is," he murmured. "There's my good girl."
The sound Kara made was not human. It was a moan, a whimper, a cry, all tangled together. She pressed her ass back against him, silently begging for more, and he gave it to her, the bra pulling taut with every thrust.
"You like that?" he asked.
"Yes—" The word was barely audible. "Yes, fuck, yes—"
"Filthy girl." He said it like a compliment. "You're a filthy, cock-hungry girl, aren't you."
"For you." She said it without thinking, without hesitation. "Only for you—"
Something in his rhythm faltered. Just for a second. Then he was back, harder than before, and Kara was coming again, sobbing into the pillow, her whole body shaking with the force of it.
She was barely coherent when she felt his fingers, spit-slick and probing, at the tight ring of her ass. He pushed one finger inside her, just to the first knuckle, and Kara's eyes flew open. The sensation was foreign and overwhelming and she was so sensitive she could barely breathe. But it wasn't bad. It was too much and not enough all at once, and she pushed back against him, wanting more.
He withdrew his finger and slid his cock out of her almost in the same motion. Kara made a sound of loss, but he was already moving, flipping her onto her back again.
"I want to see you," he said. "When I come."
He stood over her, stroking himself hard and fast. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes were locked on her face. Kara looked up at him, fucked out and spent and absolutely wrecked, and she smiled.
"Come on then, Brooks," she said. "Show me what you've got."
He came with a groan that was almost a roar, his head thrown back, and the first hot stripe landed across her cheek. The second hit her lips. The third her chin. He kept stroking, painting her face with everything he had, and Kara just lay there and took it, her tongue darting out to catch what she could.
When he was done, he stood there for a moment, breathing hard, looking down at her like she was a masterpiece he'd just finished.
Kara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and grinned.
"You got it in my hair."
"Worth it."
She laughed, exhausted and giddy, and reached up to pull him down onto the bed beside her. He went willingly, landing with a grunt, and she curled into his side without thinking about it. The bra was still around her neck. She didn't bother to take it off.
"For the record," she said, after a minute. "That was the best sex I've ever had."