He ran his fingers gently over her stomach, down to her inner thighs, watching as she slowly opened her legs wider, giving him a perfect view of heaven. Shit! He was sure he was breaking out in a sweat – Ryan Fisher, stressing out over sex with a woman. But no ordinary woman. Not this one.
He knelt up, sliding his arms around her waist, gently pulling her up so she was sitting astride him, her legs automatically wrapping themselves around him as he gave in to what he’d been wanting to do ever since he’d got there – he was about to show her that Ryan Fisher could be just as talented off the pitch as he was on it.
Amber held onto him tightly as she finally felt him enter her, pushing herself down onto him as he pushed in deeper. It was a feeling she couldn’t even begin to describe, that warm and beautiful tingle she was so familiar with now intensified tenfold as their bodies became one, moving in almost perfect rhythm together. She’d never meant to take it this far, yet from the second she’d seen him sitting there in the Press Lounge in the Tynebridge Stadium the day of their first meeting, she’d always known something was going to happen between them. She just hadn’t been sure what. But this was fine, this was okay. This was better than okay.
She held onto him tighter as the rhythm they’d created became faster, harder, building up to a crescendo of a climax that surprised even Ryan, her body shuddering in his arms as he finally felt his own release sweep through every inch of him. Jesus, that felt good! He couldn’t speak, so hard was his breathing, but as he looked at her, into those pale blue eyes of hers, he had realised that, although he’d finally been the one to conquer this ice-queen, the one to make her break her own ‘no footballers’ rule, he didn’t care about that anymore. All thoughts of running back to the lads tomorrow morning at training to give them every tiny detail of how he’d turned her from cold and uptight into hot and horny, all those thoughts had disappeared. He had no intention of doing that now, even though he’d had every intention of doing it before.
‘You can’t stay the night,’ Amber said, suddenly feeling as though she’d just sobered up from one hell of a heavy night out.
It took Ryan a few seconds to get his head together before he realised she was already pulling her clothes back on, running her fingers through that sexy, dark red hair of hers. He’d never been one for those post-sex cuddles that women always seemed to like, yet he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she was up and off him in what had to be record-quick time. That was usually his trick.
‘Yeah. Yeah, okay,’ Ryan said, slightly confused by what was happening now.
‘So?’
He looked at her as he hurriedly pulled on his own clothes, still unable to shake that disappointed feeling. ‘So, what? You… you want me to go now?’
She nodded, standing by the fireplace, her arms folded, her eyes unable to meet his.
‘Jesus…’
‘Please, Ryan.’
He stood up and walked over to her, reaching out to gently touch her cheek, and even though he’d half expected her to flinch away from him, she didn’t. She stayed right where she was, but she still couldn’t look at him.
‘You’re something else, Amber. Do you know that?’ Ryan said, stepping away from her and making his way to the door.
She finally looked at him as he walked out of the living room, closing her eyes as she heard the front door close behind him. But even then, she knew it was too late. Amber Sullivan had let her guard down. Worst case scenario.
Ryan could feel the atmosphere from the stadium outside before he even reached the tunnel; the noise and the music and the excited cheers from the thousands of fans who’d turned up to see how the returning local hero was going to fit into this beloved club of theirs. He could hear it all the second they’d stepped out of the dressing room, the decibel level rising with each step of the short walk to the tunnel. He had a lot to prove, and he knew the pitfalls that would be waiting for him if he managed to stuff up his debut appearance.
He could feel his heart racing, his stomach turning in a mixture of excited and nervous somersaults, the noise of the crowd reaching a crescendo as both teams finally approached the tunnel, standing still for a few seconds side-by-side, hands behind their backs as they took in the sheer wall of sound that seemed to reverberate around the stadium outside.
Ryan smiled as a couple of his new teammates patted him on the shoulder and wished him good luck, whilst a player on the opposing team whom he’d never got along with threw him an altogether different expression that conveyed the hope that he’d break a leg or smash a shin bone. Ryan ignored him. Nothing like that was going to get to him today. Today he was focused, totally on his game, ready to prove that he was going to deliver everything he’d promised.
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, opening them quickly as more music blared out from the stadium tannoy system signalling the players’ cue to run out and get this match underway. And as Ryan jogged out of the tunnel, out onto a perfect pitch, the roar of the crowd was almost deafening. But it was exactly that which gave him the will to play this game to the best of his ability. It was that feeling only a stadium-full of football fans could give a player like him – a feeling of absolute determination not to let them down. He’d do it for them, and show them he was worth every single penny of those multi-million pounds this club had forked out for him. Ryan Fisher was home.
‘There’s no doubt about it, the guy can play football,’ Ronnie said, leaning against the small corner bar in the Players’ Lounge as the post-match crowd started to drift in. Everybody from journalists and sports reporters to pundits, players’ wives, friends and girlfriends would congregate in the Players’ Lounge to dissect the match, catch up with people they hadn’t seen in a while or, in the case of some of those aforementioned wives and girlfriends, bitch about somebody’s ill-advised choice of shoes, hairdo, or personalised number plate on their brand new, salmon-pink Range Rover.
‘Are you expecting somebody?’ Ronnie asked, taking a much-looked-forward-to sip of cold beer. He’d just spent the best part of two hours stuck in a commentary box and he was parched. The cups of tea he’d been given during the game just weren’t going to cut it anymore.
‘Hmm? Sorry?’ Amber said, turning to face him. ‘Did you say something?’
‘You keep looking at that door as if you’re expecting