I grip the hem of his shirt and pull away from the kiss. “Is there such a thing as a post-game testosterone rush?” “You tell me,” he asks, sitting back, pulling me into his lap. “Wearing leggings every time I come over,” I moan as I shamelessly rub against him. “Mmhmm,” he says, lips against my neck and his thumbs hooked beneath the waistband of both my leggings and my panties. “This okay?” “Yeah.” I begin pushing his joggers down, too.
