11. Chapter Eleven #2
"Kevin—" Her fingers tighten in my hair and I love it. Love that she needs something to hold onto. Love that I'm the one making her feel like this.
I focus on her clit, learning what makes her gasp versus what makes her moan. The sounds she's making — these breathy little whimpers that catch in her throat — are going to live in my brain forever.
Her thighs start to shake and I hold them steady. Keep her exactly where I want her. Where I can make her feel good. Where I can take care of her the way she deserves.
"Oh shit, don't stop—"
I wouldn't dream of it. I add my fingers, curling them inside her while my tongue works her clit. The sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
"Kevin, it's— fuck— oh—"
She comes with my name on her lips, pulsing around my fingers, and I work her through it until she's pushing at my head because it's too much.
When I crawl back up her body, she looks wrecked. Her eyes search mine, dark and satisfied. I might drown in them. I can feel her heart hammering beneath my palm as it rests on the pinkened skin of her chest.
"That was okay?" Knowing it was good for her is all that matters.
She laughs, breathless. "For sure. More than okay."
Then we’re not critiquing performance anymore. She's pulling me down for a kiss, tasting herself on my tongue, and my brain goes offline.
"That was—"
"That wasn’t even the appetizer. We’re just getting started." I grab a condom from my nightstand. "But if you want to be on top, I'm not going to complain about the view."
She grabs my shorts and boxer briefs, yanking them down in one motion. Throws them toward the corner and I don't care if I ever see them again.
Then she pushes at my chest and I let her flip us. She straddles me while I tear open the condom wrapper with my teeth.
"Very smooth," she says, watching me roll it on with a hungry look in her eyes that makes my breath catch.
"I have my moments."
She positions herself over me, one hand braced on my chest. Then she's sinking down — slowly, so fucking slowly — and I have to close my eyes because if I watch her face I'm going to lose it immediately.
The wet heat of her is perfect. Better than perfect. I can hear her breathing change, going shallow and quick.
"You feel so good," she breathes.
"Sarah—" It's all I can manage. My hands find her hips, steadying her. Holding her. Protecting her even though she's the one in control.
She starts to move.
The rhythm she sets is exactly what I’d ask for if I was coherent enough to make that kind of request. Steady and rolling and making me see stars. I watch her above me — taking what she wants, confident and beautiful — and I want to tell her I love her so badly it physically hurts.
Instead I touch her. Run my hands up her sides, cup her breasts, thumb her nipples until she gasps.
"That's it," I hear myself say. My voice comes out rough. Raw. "Take what you need, baby. I've got you."
And I do. I'll always have her. Even if she doesn't know it yet.
She leans down to kiss me, changing the angle, and we both groan at how deep it makes me go. Her hair falls around us and suddenly the sensory overload shifts. Now, all I’m aware of is the mint of her shampoo mixed with sweat and sex.
Her movements get less coordinated. More desperate.
"Touch yourself," I tell her. My throat is not cooperating, barely able to get out the words. "Wanna feel you come on my cock."
"Bossy," she gasps, but her hand moves between her legs.
I can feel when she gets close — the way she tightens around me, the way her breathing changes, the way her rhythm becomes erratic.
I grip her hips harder. Help her move. Hold back my own orgasm through sheer force of will because I need her to come first. Need to see it. Need to feel it. Need to know I'm the one making her feel the same way I’m feeling, like this is not just everything we want, but everything we need.
"Kevin, I'm—"
"Let go. I've got you."
She comes with a cry that I swallow with a kiss, and she’s clenching around me so tight my vision narrows to shadows, then bursts back to light.
That's it. I'm done.
I thrust up into her as I follow her right over the cliff, pulling her down hard, both of us shaking and breathing like we just played overtime.
We stay like that. Her on top of me, my arms around her, both of us coming back from whatever cloud we just visited.
Finally, she lifts her head. "So... You promised it would be worth it."
"I did." I brush her hair back from her face. I’m touching her because I need to make sure she's real, that this is real. "Did I keep my word?"
"You kept a whole dictionary of them." She kisses me softly. "But what about you?"
"Best post-game celly ever."
She laughs and rolls off me. I immediately miss her warmth. I deal with the condom and when I come back from the bathroom, she's already stealing one of my t-shirts.
"Making yourself at home?" I ask.
"Is that okay?" There's something vulnerable in the question, and I want to erase that uncertainty. I want her to know there’s not a space in my life where she’s not welcome.
"Yeah." I grab my boxer briefs and pull them back on, then catch her hand, tugging her toward the living room. "More than okay. Thai food's probably cold though."
"That’s why you have that gorgeous Wolf stove and a microwave and an oven and an air fryer and about ten other appliances that heat up food in a hundred different ways. This fancy condo has everything."
We head for the kitchen and Sarah has everything heated up and plated within minutes. It smells spicy and I can hear my stomach making a low growl.
Between a great game and even better sex, clearly I’ve worked up an appetite.
On the way to the living room, I can see Ranger's claimed the entire couch, sprawled out like he owns it. He lifts his head when we approach, tail thumping.
"Buddy, you're going to have to share," I tell him.
He doesn't move.
Sarah laughs. "He's not budging."
"Fine." I sit on the floor, back against the couch, and pull her down between my legs. She settles against my chest and Ranger immediately puts his head on her shoulder like he's supervising.
"This is ridiculous," she says, but she's smiling as she scratches behind his ears.
We eat like that — me feeding her bites of Pad Thai, her stealing my spring rolls, Ranger begging shamelessly because now he's a celebrity and apparently that means he gets whatever he wants.
It's domestic and comfortable and everything I want with her.
Everything I can't ask for. Not now, for sure. Maybe not ever.
Because how do you risk messing up something this good with your best friend? Eating Pad Thai with Ranger is fine, but I don’t wait for his texts while I’m on the road.
"This is working, right?" she asks quietly, after we've finished eating. "The friends with benefits thing?"
The lie tastes like copper in my mouth. Like I just took a hit to the teeth. All of a sudden, I’m overwhelmed by the exact same feeling I get when I know I'm about to make a mistake and I’m forced to make it anyway because it's the only play available.
"Yeah," I manage. "It's working."
The second I say it, I know it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
Because I’m already in too deep… like would drive across town at 2 a.m. to get her favorite tacos and build her IKEA furniture for the rescue without directions and without complaining once deep.
I hate myself for lying. Hate that I'm protecting her choice to keep this casual when what I want to do is tell her everything. Tell her I'm in love with her. Tell her this stopped being casual the first time I kissed her.
But she needs this to be simple. Uncomplicated. Friends who happen to sleep together. Friends who happen to sleep together and see stars and fireworks.
So that's what I'll give her.
I'm a defenseman.
And right now, what I'm protecting is her choice.
Even if it kills me.