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As soon as I saw him, I knew I was in trouble. Tall, muscular, and confident, he was everything I wanted in a man. And the fact that he was an NBA superstar just made him that much more irresistible.

I’m not a groupie, but I couldn’t help but be drawn to him. There was something about the way he moved on the court, the way he dominated his opponents, that made me weak in the knees. And when I saw him off the court, in his street clothes, I was even more attracted to him.

I knew it was a long-shot, but I decided to try and talk to him after the game. He was packing up his stuff, surrounded by a few teammates and fans. I hung back, waiting for my chance to approach him.

When he saw me, he grinned and nodded his head in my direction. It was all the encouragement I needed. I walked up to him and introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Sarah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Hey, Sarah. I’m Marcus,” he replied, his eyes sparkling.

We chatted for a few minutes, and I could feel a connection forming between us. It was like we had known each other for years, even though we had just met.

“I have to run,” he said, glancing at his watch. “But it was great meeting you, Sarah. Maybe we can hang out sometime?”

I nodded eagerly, trying not to let my excitement show. “That would be amazing.”

We exchanged numbers, and I watched him walk away, his broad shoulders filling my vision. I was on cloud nine.

Over the next few weeks, we texted and talked on the phone. We met up a few times, going out to dinner or to a movie. Every time we were together, I felt a spark of longing and attraction, simmering just below the surface.

But we never did anything physical. He was all the time a gentleman, respectful and kind. I thought if he was secretly attracted to me, but was afraid to make a move.

One night, we were hanging out at his place, watching a movie. We were sitting close together on the couch, his arm around my shoulders. I could feel his warmth radiating through his clothing, and I wanted nothing more than to feel his skin on mine.

He must have sensed my restlessness, because he turned to look at me, his eyes darkening with desire.

“You know, Sarah, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice low and husky.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool. “Is that so?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine. “Yeah. I want you. Badly.”

And just like that, we were kissing, our mouths locked in a fierce embrace. His tongue explored my mouth, sending shivers down my spine. I could feel his arousal pressing against me, and I knew he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him.

We moved to the bedroom, tearing at each other’s clothes in a frenzy of passion. He was all hard muscles and soft kisses, his hands exploring every inch of my body.

I wasn’t inexperienced, but I had never been with a man like him. He knew exactly how to touch me, how to bring me to the edge of pleasure and then back down again. He teased me mercilessly, making me beg for release.

Finally, when I wondered I couldn’t take anymore, he pushed me over the edge, sending me into a violent orgasm that left me gasping for breath.

But he wasn’t done with me yet. He flipped me over, spreading my legs and entering me from behind. His thrusts were rough and urgent, taking me to places I had never been before. I cried out his name as he pounded into me, his own climax building to a fever pitch.

In the end, we collapsed in a sweaty, exhausted heap. He held me close, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

“That was amazing, Sarah,” he said, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’m so glad we did this.”

I smiled, feeling content and happy. “Me too, Marcus. Me too.”
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