The White House is empty when we return. Wes tells me we have the place to ourselves for the night, and we settle into the theater room, legs and bodies intertwined. The television is on, but I have no idea what we’re watching. I’m lost to him. His kisses, his hands, his words.

“Why’d you start playing basketball?” I ask as his calloused palms caress my calves and move up, higher and higher but never quite reach the apex of my desire before moving back down. My hands have taken on a mind of their own, tracing the lines of his stomach and arms. If he doesn’t tear off my clothes soon, I’m going to combust. I can feel how much he wants me—it’s pressing against my stomach, but he makes no move to take off my clothes. I thought sleep over was code for sex.

“Girls, obviously.”

I swat at him. “Seriously.”

“I don’t know. I can’t really remember a time I didn’t play. My parents worked a lot, so they overcompensated by putting me in every extra-curricular activity possible from rock climbing to piano to origami . . . you name it, I tried it.”

“Origami?”

He nods, a big proud smile on his face. “Yep, but basketball was the first thing I was really good at. I guess it sounds lame, but basketball was something that got me attention. My dad was always working long hours, coming home about the time I was getting ready for bed at night, and then all of a sudden, he was around more, getting home in time to shoot hoops outside and coming to practices. He was proud of me, and I wanted to keep that feeling. I loved it, don’t get me wrong, but I loved it more because of the way people treated me. The attention didn’t last, of course, I mean not from my parents, but the way other people praised me filled that void.”

“I don’t think I was ever that good at anything,” I admit with a small laugh. “I was okay at sports, got decent grades, but it must be really incredible to have a true talent for something.”

“I have other talents.” His fingers trace up and down my sides in slow movements that leave me equal parts wanting more and wanting just this. “These origami fingers can do magical things.”

“I may have already noticed how good you are with your hands.” My voice is filled with want and desire even to my own ears.

He dips his head, his lips finding my collarbone. “It isn’t just my hands that are talented.”

I respond with something witty and sexy, I’m sure, but the words don’t register above our combined sighs.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and I’m so keyed up I nearly groan at the hum of pleasure against my hip. “Let me just make sure it isn’t one of the guys needing a ride or something.”

I pry myself off him reluctantly, and Wes fishes out his phone. “Fucking Joel,” he mutters and stands before he adjusts himself—no shame. Wes lets out an audible sigh. “Give me five?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I just need to take care of something.”

Wes leaves me, and I sit, tapping my toes and impatiently waiting for him to return. I do a swipe under my eyes in case any eye makeup has smudged, run my fingers through my hair, check the bra and panty situation to make sure they aren’t all twisted. I’ve been wearing my best lingerie for weeks now just in case.

Minutes pass, and I listen for any indication of what he’s up to. What in the world could he possibly be doing?

The answer should be me. He should be doing me.

An idea forms, and I hesitate for half a second before bounding up the stairs to Wes’s room and grabbing my overnight bag.

There’s no sign of Wes. Maybe he went to Joel’s room for something? I quickly pull the shirt I’m wearing off and then pull on the Valley jersey. Without a mirror, I can’t properly check my reflection, but I have a feeling Wes is going to enjoy seeing me wear his name and number.

I’m contemplating removing my shorts and just making my intentions ultra-obvious, but he appears in the doorway. He’s holding his phone and tapping away like he’s sending a text. When he sees me, he stops short, fingers still over the screen. “Holy shit.”

“You like?” I turn so show off the back and, yes, my ass because I know it looks fantastic in these shorts.

“Come here.”

We meet in the middle, and I give myself over to him. His touch, his kisses, the smell of him . . . I breathe him in. Everything moves slowly, he’s taking his time as if there’s no rush when I’m so keyed up I might die if things don’t move faster. I’m forcing myself to let him take the lead, and it’s as if his restraint is something of Gods and not mere mortals like myself.

I whimper when he finally brings two rough palms up under my shirt, but just as his hands graze the bottom of my lacy bra, he pulls back and lets his hands fall to my hips.

The restraint I’ve been holding on to snaps. “You’re either some sort of saint or you just aren’t as into me as I’m into you.”

He laughs, a deep throaty sound that I feel shake his chest. “I promise you I’m no saint and I’m definitely into you.”

“Then what is it? I have my sexiest lingerie on and I’m practically throwing myself at you. Can we please get naked now?”

He groans and pulls at his hair with both hands. “Fucking Joel.”

The mention of Joel catches me by surprise. Seems like a weird time to chat about his friend. Maybe their friendship really does know no bounds.

“Did Joel do something? Say something?”

“He just gave me maybe the worst advice ever.”

I wait for him to say more, utterly confused.

“This is embarrassing, but I guess I’d rather risk humiliation then have you think I’m not into you. I’m so into you—so much so that I took fucking Joel’s advice.”

“I—”

“Joel lives by the motto that you shouldn’t show up on game day without getting your head in the right place.” He says it so quick that I’m pretty sure I heard him wrong.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Why the hell are we talking about basketball right now?

“You know . . . clean the pipes, buff the wood, polish the rocket?” He uses both hands to point to his junk. “Joel jerks off before—”

“Ewww, okay. TMI. I do not need to know about Joel’s pre-game rituals.”

“No. Fuck. I’m going to kill him.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Joel told me I should jerk off before we had sex. It’s been a while, and he was worried about me making an ass of myself.” He continues muttering under his breath, but I’m doubled over in laughter.

He finally joins in, and it only eggs me on. I’m laughing so hard tears are streaming down my face while simultaneously wondering if it is the end of romance when you find out the guy you want to have sex with is taking matters into his own hands . . . literally.

“So, just now . . . while I was downstairs?” I motion at his crotch, which sets me off again.

He scrunches his nose like he knows he’s said too much. “Fuck, this is humiliating.”

I try to rein in my laughter. He’s clearly embarrassed. “Guys really do that? You jerk off before having sex for . . . what reason exactly?”

“I know it sounds dumb as fuck now, but Joel was convincing.”

“Joel seems like the last person to take relationship advice from.”

He runs a hand through his thick hair in frustration. “I really fucking like you, Blair.”

“I like you, too, but why does that require . . .” I wave my hand in front of him. There’s no way I can bring myself to say it again.

“I panicked. Joel got in my head. I wanted tonight to be perfect. So, yeah, I listened to my douchebag roommate, but don’t think for a second that my restraint has anything to do with not wanting you. I fucking want you so much I listened to Joel.”

“That’s oddly sweet, but I think I’d prefer come in your pants to this jerked off version that has me ready to hump your pillow. I want the perfect, can’t-keep-his-hands-off-me, afraid-of-embarrassing-himself-because-he-might-explode-at-any-moment guy I’m falling for. Just you.”

“Fuuuuck.” He drawls out the word and closes his eyes.

I slide my hands up his chest and link my arms around his neck. “Okay by you?”

He nods and just as I’m feeling fully in control, he has me on the bed and is braced above me. His muscular arms press into the mattress, caging me in as he stares down at me like I’m everything.

He stands and pulls his T-shirt over his head before lying back beside me. Hooking a finger into the V of my shirt, Wes tugs just enough to show a bit more skin. “I really want to see what’s underneath, but damn, you look good wearing my jersey.”

“The whole point of putting it on was for you to take it off.”

He grins and slides his hands to the hem and slowly inches it up as if he wants to delay the surprise underneath. “So beautiful.”

As he stares down at me and his navy eyes darken, I fall a little deeper under his spell. He’s everything I never knew I wanted or thought to fantasize about. Smart, fun, loyal, and smoking hot. His muscular body moves with elegance and confidence that is as hot as it is commanding.

I’m not nearly as patient as I scramble to get naked and then free him of his jeans and boxer briefs. Maybe I should have aspired to the Joel Moreno life motto, because the sight of Wes’s naked body is nearly orgasmic on its own. His penis is the kind of perfection that romance novels are written about.

“Need to study this gorgeous body,” he murmurs against my lips. The heat of his gaze rakes over me. True to his words, he looks at me as if he wants to memorize every detail as he trails kisses down my body. He places one at my belly button that sends a tremble down my spine.

“Can you study later . . . or maybe during?”

His smile is slow and cocky. “So impatient.”

One long finger trails up my inner thigh and slips inside me, causing my hips to rock into his palm. He fucks me with one finger and then two, circling my clit with his thumb. I open my eyes to find his gaze still hard and studying.

His hands are magic. As my moans fill the silence of his bedroom, his lips find the pulse in my neck, and he sucks hard. My orgasm tears through me at rocket speed, and I call out his name as I shatter.

“Perfection.” He dusts kisses down my body, places a kiss on my hip, and then trails back up. “I want to hear you say my name like that again.”

He reaches to the nightstand and pulls out a condom, and I watch on greedily as he slips it on. I’ll happily say his name any way he wants, as many times as he wants, if he makes me feel like that again.

I stare hard at his beautiful penis as he fists it and guides it to my entrance. I’m mesmerized as our bodies join. He stretches me gloriously, and I let out a sigh of complete contentment.

“You good?”

Good? No. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Super,” I say as I reach up and rub both breasts.

His size and strength and endurance make me realize what I’ve been missing out on, and I suddenly comprehend the devotion of the jersey chasers.

His eyes stay on me as he pumps in and out at a delicious pace that promises another bone-melting orgasm. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but the way he looks at me, as if somehow this is a big deal even though we’ve said from the start that this is casual, is as hot as the rest of him. He has promised me nothing but has given me everything.

I push away all thought, letting the sensations overwhelm and pull me under.

“Wes,” I say as my lids close with the pressure of my second orgasm.

He slams into me harder grunting out my name as he shudders through his release.

The next morning, I wake to an empty bed. I miss the heat of him immediately. I open my eyes and stretch my limbs, feeling the soreness of last night and bask in it. Wes is gone, which I knew he would be, and the house is quiet. I sit up in his bed and spy my name written on a note on his desk. Pulling the blanket around me, I stand and walk over to it. I pick it up and turn it over, but the note says nothing else. I frown until I spot what’s resting behind it—a paper rose folded intricately and perfectly. I lift it and clutch it carefully to my chest. Damn, he really is good with his hands.