Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AMES
“Come on,” Robbie says, tugging me inside the house and kicking the door shut behind us. “I was thinking about getting you alone all through dinner.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I say innocently, though my heart’s racing.
It’s pretty much been racing all night. All day too. And yesterday. And the day before. And…
Fine. It’s been at superspeed since our first kiss. At this point, I probably need medical intervention.
“What comes next in the curriculum, Professor Axford?”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Sometimes. And you love it.”
I run a hand over Robbie’s face and think, Yeah, I really fucking do … and then a bolt of nauseous panic grips me.
The average person might think I’ve never been happier than I have this past week with Robbie. And they’d be right.
In most ways, our relationship looks like it always has.
We get together nearly every night for dinner, except these days, Robbie’s right behind me, pressing his hard cock against my ass while I stir the risotto.
We watch TV on the couch, except now his hand’s in my underwear or my mouth is on his cock, to the point where I’ve developed a Pavlovian dick response to hearing the meteorologist on the eleven o’clock news saying, “We’re in for a wet one tonight!
” We text constantly—except now Rob’s thirst traps of his abs aren’t accidental and come with captions like “This is your fault” and “fix this pls.”
It’s amazing. Exactly what I always dreamed of.
But it turns out— life lesson here, kids —there’s nothing more terrifying than achieving your dreams, because then you have everything to lose.
I love Robbie. But I can’t commit to this relationship thing. Not entirely. Not yet.
Because if I dive in fully and Robbie realizes he’s panic-flailed himself into this thing with me for the wrong reasons… if he decides it’s easier to pursue his wife-and-picket-fence dreams again… he’ll feel guilty, and I’ll be heartbroken, and our friendship will be dust and ashes.
Robbie’s eyes study my face, and one side of his mouth tips up in a knowing smile. “My Amesie. Always trying to control everything. Trying to protect everyone. Maybe turn that brain off, huh?”
I frown. It’s annoying as fuck to be known and even worse to be managed. “Why don’t you make me?” I shoot back.
Robbie grins like this is the opening he was waiting for. He drops to his knees so smoothly it takes my breath away .
“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning back against the wall by the stairs. “Don’t you want to?—?”
Green eyes meet mine intently. “All I want right now, Ames— all I want—is to make you feel as good as you make me feel whenever we’re together.”
I have absolutely nothing to say to that, so I thread my good hand through his hair and nod.
He makes quick work of my belt and zipper, and I have to brace myself against the wall as he removes my boots, then peels my pants down and off. The look on his face while he does it—like he’s unwrapping his favorite present—does dangerous things to my heart.
Robbie starts slow, pressing adoring lips to my hip bones, my thighs, the shallow dip of my belly button. He runs his nose down my happy trail, inhaling like he’s savoring the scent. When he finally wraps his hand around me, my breath stutters, my cock already throbbing and desperate.
We’ve done a lot of stuff together. Quickie handies first thing in the morning, right after work. Rubbing off on each other while watching TV at night. Copping all the feels in the shower. Me sucking him and him making noises I’ve only ever heard in my dreams.
But not this. Not really.
I’m so hard I’m ready to come, and we haven’t gotten to the main course. If he keeps this up, the lesson will be over before it starts. Fuck that.
“Okay?” Robbie murmurs, his breath warm on my skin.
“Save the edging for the advanced course, young padawan,” I manage to croak out. “Suck me.”
Robbie huffs out a hot breath that ghosts over my tip. Then he leans in, dragging his tongue up my length in one slow, deliberate stroke before swirling it around the head.
My head falls back against the wall with a thunk. Holy fuck.
“Hey, hey,” he laughs. “Are you trying to re-concuss yourself? Stick around for the good part first, maybe?”
“Less talking,” I gasp. “This will be reflected in your final gra— ah, fuck !”
Robbie takes me into his mouth in a single, smooth motion, and his lips seal around me, warm and wet and perfect.
He’s tried this before, but I’ve always pulled him up before he could get me there. Like maybe a mouth full of spunk would be too overwhelming, too scary, too… real, or something.
But tonight, he’s determined, and I have no willpower to resist. Zero. None.
He starts slow, just the tip, his tongue exploring my skin in ways that make my toes curl.
Then he takes me deeper, inch by inch, until I’m hitting the back of his throat.
When he hums, the vibration shoots straight up my spine.
When he takes me deep, I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound that’s way too close to a whimper.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Rob?—”
He pulls off just enough to say, “Tell me what you like.”
“I—huh?”
“I like everything we’ve done. Love everything we’ve done.” His tongue flicks up the underside, and I shudder. “I want to know what feels good to you , Amesie. ”
Christ. How is he so good at this? How does he know exactly what to say to unravel me?
“Th-that,” I manage. “The thing you just did. With your tongue.”
He makes the swirling motion again, and I groan. “This?”
“ That . Fuck, yes, that.”
Robbie’s a quick study. Always has been. But I just cannot believe the way he focuses on me. The way he pays attention to every little thing.
When I gasp, when my fingers tighten in his hair, when my hips roll, he sees it, and I feel like I’m giving too much away.
The truth is, he already knows most of what drives me wild: the flat of his tongue tracing my underside, the gentle—fucking delicate —scrape of his teeth, seeing his cheeks hollow as he sucks, hearing his wet, desperate choke when he takes me to the back of his throat.
But apparently, he’s determined to learn every single cheat code.
And it’s clear he loves getting me off because once he locks into what works, he just does not stop.
The whole time, his green eyes—wet and teary—stare up at me, getting off on my twitches and gasps.
It’s too much, this connection. And somehow, it’s not enough.
“Robbie,” I warn, the pressure coiling tight at the base of my spine. “I’m—I’m close. You should?—”
He hums again, an acknowledgment this time, and once more, the vibration shoots through me.
But he keeps going. One hand braces my hip, holding me steady; the other’s wrapped around the base of my cock, his grip way too firm and sure for a man who only discovered the joys of cock sucking a week ago.
“I-I’m close,” I try again, tugging his hair. “If you don’t want?—”
He pulls off just long enough to say, “I want.” His voice is rough, his eyes are dark with desire.
And that’s it. That’s all she wrote. I am done.
I come with his name torn from my throat, my hand possessively fisted in his hair, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
He swallows every bit of my release like he’s done this a thousand times. Like he wants to do it a thousand more.
When he finally pulls off, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins up at me, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.
I have to close my eyes against the surge of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. Because Robbie on his knees for me, sharing my pleasure… it’s impossible to convince myself this is some friendship add-on or whatever the fuck I’d called it.
“Was that good?” he asks, his voice still rough. “Did you like it?”
I open my eyes and look down at him—still on his knees, still grinning, still so goddamn gorgeous—and my nose and throat burn.
“You already know I loved it,” I accuse, my voice barely there.
The sweet smile he gives me as he climbs to his feet and tugs me to the bathroom says he does.
This is not sustainable, I think a short while later, when we climb into bed.
I’m staying over because it would be shitty of me to expect him to drive me home this late, and for no other reason.
But tomorrow, I need to sit Robbie down and re-explain…
well, everything. Everything I said a week ago—and then utterly disregarded—about how he needs to take things slowly, and how this isn’t real, no matter how it feels in the moment.
It’ll make sense when I explain it properly. He’ll understand I’m protecting both of us.
I surface slowly like I’ve been underwater. First, there’s warm breath ghosting over my skin, then a soft drag of lips tracing down my chest. Then I hear Robbie’s voice, so low it’s more of a vibration from his body into mine, saying things that make my chest tight and my heart stumble.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against my ribs, his lips moving with each word, each syllable a kiss. “So strong. So sweet. You’re so fucking perfect, Ames.”
I make a sound—something between a sigh and a whimper—and fingers trail down my arm while a warm tongue laps over my nipple.
“I love this tattoo,” Robbie breathes. “I meant what I said, Ames. I love that we match. Love that everyone who sees it knows we belong to each other.”
I’m drifting, half in a dream, everything warm and soft at the edges. I’ve been in this dream before, and I love every part of it. It’s a lucky, lucky night when this dream comes.
Dream-Robbie’s mouth moves lower, his breath hot against the trail of hair below my navel, and I arch into the sensation without thought.
“Love you,” he whispers into my skin, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you so much. Have for so long. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. Sorry we didn’t have this always.”