The lover of Antoine Bourdeu

West

“Baby,” my wife, Tilly, says as she climbs onto my lap. She straddles my legs and digs her nails into my shoulders, knowing I like it when she grips me there. “How about I make a deal with you?”

My cock hardens as she grinds her pussy over the tip, her heat soaking through my sweatpants. Her hips swivel several times before I look at her.

“What kind of deal?”

Her eyes widen as I shift her over my crown, guiding it toward her ass.

“I’ll get on all fours and suck you off, but—”

“Done.”

She smiles. “But you haven’t heard the rest of the deal yet.”

I grab a handful of her blond hair and use it to pull her head back, exposing the whole line of her neck. “You had me at suck.”

I graze my nose up her throat. Damn, she smells good, like some berry lotion and perfume and whatever else she puts on that always takes her so long to get ready.

It’s been days since I really took in her scent. It’s not that she hasn’t been home. She just hasn’t come too close to me while she’s been here. Whenever I’m waiting on a call from my agent, I prefer it that way. No touching, no nagging, no asking me any questions. I just want to be surrounded by the noise of the TV and all the accomplishments that hang on the walls of my mancave. And I try not to let the thoughts overtake me.

I’m doing a shitty job at it.

This call will be one of the biggest of my career.

And my wife has broken our unspoken rule.

Maybe putting my cock in her mouth will bring me a little luck. I sure as fuck need some.

“My deal is a bit more involved than just sucking,” she says.

Her groan vibrates over my lips as I bite into her flesh. “You’re going to give me your ass?”

She laughs, which tells me her answer, the same one I usually get whenever I try to stick my dick in there.

“As long as I come,” I say, “your deal can be as involved as you want.”

“Then, you’ll follow me into the shower now?” She pulls her neck away from my mouth and locks her eyes with mine. “Because that’s where it’s going to take place. You know, after you’ve stood under the hottest water and I’ve scrubbed your body with a sponge full of soap.” She clenches her hand around the top of my T-shirt and smells the collar. “It’s time, baby. I don’t even want to guess how long you’ve been wearing this.”

I know how long.

Once I returned from the hospital, where I’d had my third MRI in less than a year, this was what I changed into. My team logo and number are on both the T-shirt and sweats—the same logo and number I’ve been wearing the whole six years I’ve been in the league. Both were given to me during training camp directly after I was drafted. I have a closet full of athletic gear just like this, but there’s something about the originals I can’t part with. These clothes have seen me through some long-ass stretches when the guys and I couldn’t find our rhythm on the ice, when the fans wanted to turn on us.

The clothes are going to see me through this, too.

They fucking have to.

I sink against the leather chair, my dick softening beneath her, the shifting of her hips not doing it for me anymore.

“Come on, West.” Her lips find my jaw, and she kisses down to my chest. “You know you want your cock in this hot, wet mouth. You love it when I slide my lips right around your tip and suck so hard just as you’re about to come.”

My wife gives some mean head.