Chapter 33 #2
I don’t let myself into Ross’s home because that borders on stalker-ish, not to mention, he trusted me with the code, but it didn’t give me permission to come and go as I pleased.
So, I anxiously stand outside his door near midnight, while the rain hammers the pavement behind me.
I’m grateful for the small roof overhanging the raised landing before his front door.
With a shaky finger, which is trembling from a combination of the cold night and my rattling nerves, I ring the bell, waiting as I assume Ross checks his security camera before answering the door.
When he doesn’t answer within seconds, I ring the bell again.
Waiting once more while second guessing my decision to be here, inventing scenarios why he couldn’t come to the door.
He went out with his fellow coaches.
He had other obligations after the game.
He met someone else.
Angered by the imaginary woman I don’t want taking my place, I ring the bell one more time.
As I wait what feels like long enough for a man to reach his front door or notice me through his security camera, I come to a final conclusion.
Three strikes. I’m out.
I turn for the stairs, watching the rain pelt the cars lining the dimly-lit city street.
The heavy showers ripple up and down the street causing bursts of water to pop from impact with the pavement.
Lifting my rain jacket hood, knowing a race to my car might be fruitless—I’m going to be drenched—I’m about to take the first step down Ross’s front stairs when his door opens.
“Verona?”
I spin to face Ross, who clutches a towel that’s wrapped loosely around his waist.
“Am I interrupting something?” Clearly a shower.
He glances beyond me. “I was taking a shower to warm up. I’m getting too old for rainy games.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to—”
Ross steps out onto the covered landing, grips the front of my rain jacket, and tugs me forward, leading me into his house. The door slams behind me and he stares at me. We both drip on his entryway floor. He must have stepped out of the shower and walked directly to the door.
Not certain where to begin, I say, “I’m sorry about the loss tonight.”
“You should be.” His intention is clear. Without me in his bed last night, he faults me for the Anchor’s loss this evening. His good luck charm failed him.
Still, I’m instantly hurt. That open heart Cassandra suggested is instantly pierced and raw. I came here to apologize for my behavior but maybe Ross is finished with my antics.
I hang my head.
But Ross’s hand comes to my chin, his fist lifting my face so I look at him. His eyes search my face before his brows cinch.
“Vee.” He groans. “I’m not thinking of you as a damn good luck charm.” He begins as if he read my thoughts. “I’m not even mad that we lost the game. I’m pissed you ran off last night and didn’t talk to me about what you were feeling. I’m upset that you weren’t in my bed all night.”
He tilts his head. “Do you realize you have yet to sleep in that bed with me?”
Instantly, I recall how I spent an entire week in his bed without him. And the things I did in that bed, with him, while on the phone.
“I didn’t get to hold you, smell you, wake up to your beautiful face this morning.”
His hand opens, cupping my jaw. “And I was preparing for another lonely night without you. And yet, here you are.”
“Here I am,” I whisper.
“Why are you here?” His voice lowers, sand grains in an hourglass. He steps closer to me, crowding me like he did yesterday, until I’m against the front door again.
“I . . .” I take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his palm on my jaw. The heat of his shower radiates off him. His nearness is what I need. Whole. Healing. “I’m sorry.”
His blue gaze is dull today, and darts around my face, searching for something.
“I might have overreacted last night.” I lick my lips and lower my voice, the sound strained when I say, “I panicked.”
Ross stays still. Close but rigid.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly and blink up at him. “I’m scared of how I feel about you. I’m scared that whatever this is will hurt when it ends.”
“Vee.” He exhales and lowers his head to mine. “I’m scared too, sweetheart. Frightened of all that I feel. I wasn’t expecting this. Any of this.” He pauses. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Me either.” Ross Davis in reality is so much more than the fantasy that lived in my head.
“I haven’t felt like this in a long, long time.” His voice is fine gravel.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever felt this way,” I whisper, closing my eyes, afraid he’ll see all the pain of my past and the fears for my future.
Ross pulls back and swipes his thumb along my cheekbone. His eyes are a bit brighter, wide and watching me. “Who says this feeling has to end, Vee?”
“You can’t predict that it won’t.” I swallow around the thickness in my throat.
“I can’t predict wins or losses, but I still play the game.”
“I don’t want to be a game to you.” I blink as my eyes cloud.
“Sweetheart. Vee. You aren’t a game.” He tugs me to him, wrapping me in a hug with one arm. His other hand still clutching the towel at his waist. My face is against his warm, bare chest. My soaked rain jacket presses against his fresh skin.
Too soon, he pushes me back and holds my shoulder.
“Do you need a pep talk?” His mouth curls. The stiffness in him lessening. He pushes back my hood and then brushes back my hair, running his knuckles down the side of my neck.
I chuckle weakly. “Didn’t know what you were getting yourself into by holding that elevator, did you?”
Ross stares at me a second. Maybe he’s forgotten how he held the door when I raced to catch that lift back in November.
“Holding that elevator might have been the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Ross and I stare at one another a long second before I slowly unsnap each closure on my rain jacket. Snap. Snap. Snap. The sharp sound mingles with our sudden ragged breaths. Ross watches as my coat slowly opens, revealing his jersey underneath. I let the rain-slicked material drop to the floor.
“Is this your idea of a pep talk?” His gaze doesn’t leave me. Taking in his jersey on top. Jeans on the bottom. Feet in flip flops.
“Let’s not talk,” I whisper.
Then I tip up on my toes, palm his bristly face and tug his mouth to me. We shift until my back is against the hallway wall. Ross had been clutching his towel, even when he hugged me.
Within minutes, his towel is forgotten, dropped to the floor.
“Towels have a funny habit of slipping off you in my presence,” I tease, taking the liberty to glance down at him, long and erect, and wrap my hand around his thickness.
“Funny. Only happens when you’re around.”
“Lucky me,” I jest.
“No. Lucky me.” His mouth is back on mine as I tug at his length, squeezing him harder, like he likes it. His fingers fumble with the jersey I wear.
“I thought you liked me in this,” I remind him against his mouth.
“I’d like you better out of it.”
I push him back until his back hits the opposite wall.
Then, I remove the jersey myself, slowly revealing my body to him and letting the material fall to the floor with his towel and my rain jacket.
I kick off my flip-flops and lower my jeans all while Ross watches me, biting the side of his fist. Eyes roam over me like I’m a precious jewel.
Standing before him in only my bra and underwear, we stare at one another for a second.
I shiver, both from his inspection and the coolness lingering in the hall from the rainy air outside.
Then Ross crosses the hall again, mouth crushing mine. The kiss says everything. He wants me as much as I want him. I’m his. He’s mine. Us. Together.
Falling against the wall behind me once more, Ross kisses down my body, lowering to one knee.
He props up my foot on his thigh, opening me up to him.
Then his face is between my legs and my hands comb back his wet hair.
His mouth is warm. His tongue thick, and quickly he finds that nub that triggers everything inside me to come undone.
He licks me with broad strokes and sharp flicks until I shatter, crying out his name in the dark entryway. Like fireworks exploding after a homerun. I revel in every starburst and explosion.
Ross lights up my life.
As I feel my knees giving up and the orgasm subsides, I cup the sides of his head, lifting his chin so he faces me. Then I lean down and kiss him again, swirling my tongue into his mouth, tasting me on him. Marking him.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he mutters against me before standing, his knees cracking as he does. The hardwood must not have been comfortable.
I fist Ross again, stroking his thick length, teasing the head. I shift him and lift my leg, hooking it around his hip, guiding Ross where I want him go. He bends his knees a bit, lining us up and swipes through my slickness, but our heights won’t allow us to finish the act against a wall.
“Condoms are in my room,” he admits, still dragging through wet folds, teasing me, tempting us to go bare, right here in his hall.
I press at his shoulder, moving him back while I take his hand. Then I lead him up the staircase to his room.
When we reach his room, I climb up on the bed, scoot to the middle and wait as he opens the nightstand drawer for what we need.
Once covered, Ross reaches for my ankles and tugs me back to the edge of the bed, my legs dangling off the sides as he stands in front of me.
He leans down, one arm bracing him over me while his other hand guides his thick length to line up with my entrance once more.
He strokes through my slickness, regaining hardness before he easily glides into me.
“Apology accepted,” he grunts as he fills me to the hilt.
And I take a breath, as if I’d been holding mine since I walked into his house.
Keeping himself braced over me, he rolls his hips, the strength in his legs moving him in and out of me. He alternates between watching his entrance into me and looking at my face.
I only stare at him. His eyes are bright in the low light of his room. His smile is more of a smirk, but he looks happy.
Apology accepted.
Handing over my heart to him isn’t going to be difficult.