15. Trick

I don't really sleep. Sinclaire drifts off for a few hours, and I watch her resting, marveling at how fucking pretty she is.

The whole time, I'm working through the options for today. We'll be flying back to Florida as a team. Tomorrow or the day after, there will be a victory parade.

Next week will have a few commitments, and then I'm done. Maybe forever.

I want to take her on a trip.

A honeymoon.

Fuck, I want to put a ring on her finger soon. Week after next, if she'll let me. Definitely before a bump appears, for propriety's sake. Not that I care about that, but she might.

And it's the kind of thing that people in Wildflower Hollow might whisper about, although they shouldn't. Would she consider moving to Wyoming with me?

Winter's not the best time to introduce her to ranch life. And she's always been a city girl. Would she even like that?

We'll find a way. I can be happy anywhere, as long as I get to wrap myself around her sunshine.

I have so much to learn about her. It's a whole new deal.

Given that we're really just starting to date, I know more than I should about her, but it's all through the lens of being her dad's player. I've always gone out of my way to ask her about school and friends and hobbies.

Now?

Now she's my woman. Now I want to know about her secret fears. I want to smooth out any little problems for her that I can. Make life as easy as it can be for the girl who's going to make me a Daddy in a public way.

What kind of wedding does she want? Did she dream of a big white dress and a glittering cathedral?

I'll give her anything she wants.

At dawn, I finally dig out my phone to find out what the plan is for our return.

When I see that everyone has been given a late check out, and the plane isn't leaving until after noon, I let myself drift off.

And when Sinclaire wakes, I rouse, too.

We order room service breakfast. From the clatter of the trays forty minutes later, I know I'm not the only one in the hallway who has the same idea.

I stalk to the door and open it just long enough to grab our food, ignoring the curious looks from the other heads that peek out of open doors.

They'll find out who I've had in my room soon enough, but it won't be while I'm half-naked. Or before I've made sure Sinclaire has a full belly—in more ways than one.

My girl is sitting up in bed, the sheet barely covering her, when I return. I gruffly point out all the food I ordered, and her cheeks turn pink at the pancakes and bacon.

"Your favorite, right?"

She nods. "I'm no good at making them myself yet."

"We'll spend all winter practicing." I add butter and syrup to the stack, then cut her a piece. "Open up."

She giggles, but takes the bite.

Watching bliss ripple over her face is a fucking gift.

Her eyes flutter shut, her thick lashes brushing her pink cheeks, and I have a sudden image of her having the exact same reaction as she takes the crown of my cock into her mouth, nursing on the tip. Her cheeks hollowing out as she sucks…

When she blinks them open again, she tilts her head to the side. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Trick…" She pokes me with her toe. "What were you just thinking about?"

"It was dirty."

Her eyes sparkle. "Even better. Tell me."

"I wondered if you'd make those same little happy sounds as you…" I can't say it. I can say a lot of things to this girl, but suck my cock dies on my lips. "If you might please me."

She laughs out loud this time. Not a giggle, but a full on belly laugh. It's fucking sexy. "With a blow job, you mean?" Her lips purse for a second, her gaze softening. "Or would you rather I call it making love to you with my mouth?"

My cock likes all of that. "You can call it anything you want."

She pushes breakfast aside. "Come here, slugger. I want to?—"

I yank the tray back, her orange juice wobbling. "Eat first."

"I am going to eat," she says innocently.

Now my erection is hard and straining up to my belly, threatening to escape my boxer briefs. I wrap my fingers over it. Her attention follows my hand. "Have a few more bites of pancake," I say hoarsely.

She grabs the fork and does what she's told. I'm fixated on each drop of maple syrup she licks up and the sweet little sounds of satisfaction she makes, so I barely register the tray sliding away again.

I'm not going to tell her no a second time, anyway.

She twists around, laying on her belly now, as she reaches for my waistband.

Her fingers look soft and innocent against my calloused mitt, but she knocks my hand away with ease, already familiar with my body after a single night.

Has my cock ever looked bigger than it does in her hand? Smooth, stretched skin, deep purple. Pale fingers stroking up and down it, and then she pushes my thighs apart, kneeling in front of me on the bed. Her touch trails to my balls, her gaze locked on my face.

I stop breathing.

She smiles, a girl who has just discovered infinite power, and she squeezes my nuts gently. "Do you like this?"

I groan. "Yeah."

"Cool." She dips her head, her hair trailing over my hairy belly, and her mouth comes down on my cock.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Could she sound any more casually younger if she tried? Cool. Yeah, her swallowing my cock is cool.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for her fingers and mouth and tongue and very strong swallowing skills to get me off. I see stars, and hear them, too, as she giggles and hops off the bed, going in search of a glass of water.

There's a hard knock at the door.

"You up, Trick?" It's Jeff.

Not anymore, man. Your daughter just sucked the life out of me and now she's rinsing my jizz out of her mouth.

The tap turns off and Sinclaire tiptoes back into view, her finger held up to her mouth. Her eyes are dancing, unconcerned that her dad is barely ten feet away.

"Yeah, I'm up," I holler.

She sits on the side of the bed, naked and lovely, sipping water as I hop up.

"Time to go?" she asks.

"Something like that," I growl. "Put the water down."

She gives me a confused look but does as I demand.

I hook her by the ankle and haul her to the end of the bed. "Come to Papa, pet. Daddy's hungry, too."

The morning light makes it clear that I've already ravaged her pussy enough. She's red and swollen, well-fucked and almost certainly tender, but her legs fall open for me and her fingers weave into my hair.

I lay the gentlest of kisses on her clit, then follow that with a slow lick.

"You have to be quiet," I remind her.

One of her hands flies off my head, and I look up in time to see her clamp it over her own mouth.

Fuck yes.

I lick her again, lower this time, to her hole and the swollen skin around it.

She doesn't look like she could take my cock this morning. But she tastes like she wants it anyway, all fresh and slick for me, arousal sliding out faster and faster as I lick and suck at her flesh.

I clamp onto her clit and start pulsing, needing to get her there, needing to taste one more release.

I want her fresh on my tongue as I announce to the world that she's my girl.

* * *

Dressing Sinclaire is a tender reward I didn't expect from being her lover.

She lets me put her panties on her, and do up her bra. She puts on the same jean skirt as last night, but instead of the cowboy boots, she's wearing converse sneakers, and instead of the tank top she pulls on a pink sweatshirt.

"How do I look?"

"Can you stop blushing?" I ask.

She laughs. "No."

"Then you look perfect." I zip up my suit bag and hook it onto my suitcase. I'm wearing a cotton Henley team shirt and dark jeans, because they're the heaviest pants I packed and they'll give me a fighting chance of not popping a visible erection in front of her father.

She gives me a once over, the blush deepening. "You look perfect, too."

I could get used to this warm feeling in my chest, that's for fucking sure.

At the door, I give her a long, slow kiss. "You're mine. That's all that matters. If anyone needs a minute to process that, that's on them."

"Oh, they're going to need at least a minute," she whispers back.

"I love you. I don't care if it's too soon. I?—"

"I love you, too," she says in a rush. "I have loved you all season and that's why I stayed away."

"What the fuck?"

"We have to go."

"We're coming back to that conversation," I growl. Then I open the door.

There's something about playing on a ball team for so many games in a season that syncs up everyone's schedule, even on a one-of-a-kind morning like today. Half the team is spilling into the hall at the same time as us.

I hold the door for Sinclaire to join me, then I take her hand. Together, we walk down the hall. Everyone goes still, staring as we pass them.

None of them have seen the coach's daughter in months, and now she's just stepped out of my room looking like her pussy just got freshly worshiped.

We're halfway to the elevators when the whispers start. And it's one thing to have a thought and share it to my face, but the whispers behind Sinclaire's back are not a thing I'm going to stand for.

I squeeze her fingers, halting us, and I turn around.

Rightly, a wave of alarm ripples across my teammates' faces.

"You thinking of saying something?" I glare at them all, one by one. Nobody says a peep. "I didn't think so. This woman is everything to me. End of story."

Beside me, Sinclaire reacts, and at first I think it's to my words, but then there's a thump against the wall, and she's tugging on my hand.

From behind me, a throat clears itself. "I have some questions."