Chapter Seventeen – Crew #2
Removing my hand from her cunt, I grab my pulsating cock and guide it toward her entrance, slapping the top of her mound covered in trimmed dark brown hair before gliding downward through the folds. Even with the condom, I can feel her heat radiating around my tip.
Aligning the head at her entrance, I slowly guide my erection deeper inside her pussy. The walls tense around me like a fist, and it takes everything in me to keep from plunging to the hilt to feel her clutch me completely.
Sweat begins to bead along my hairline as I pause, waiting for her tightness to adjust to my cock’s size. Bailey’s eyes pinch closed, and for a second, I worry I’ve hurt her. I begin to pull back, but then I feel her hand on my ass, her fingers clutching the muscle.
“Don’t stop. Please.”
“Are you sure?” I ask through clenched teeth.
She practically growls without saying a word, her eyes popping open in rage.
I rock into her as deep as she can take me. I’m only able to fit a little more than half of my shaft inside her before her body stops me. She’s so petite that I’m afraid of hurting her by going any farther.
Pulling back out fully, I then slide my cock inside her sheath again, blessedly aware of how her walls grip me. Grabbing the back of her right leg, I hitch her knee closer to her chest, plunging into her again.
“Yes,” she purrs, her back arching at the same time.
Beneath my hand, her leg starts to quiver after a few more thrusts.
“Tell me what you want,” I say, my breath exhaling in quick pants.
“Faster. Touch my clit,” she wheezes as her other leg wraps around my waist, digging her heel into my ass.
Reaching up, I grasp the pillow positioned against the headboard and shove it under her hips. With the lift of her ass, my cock slips deeper into her pussy.
“Yes! Oh my God!”
Leaning forward as I continue to thrust my aching erection in and out of her sex, I brush my lips against her mouth.
“Crew. Not God. And you’ll call out my name when I make you come.
” I slip my hand between our bodies, my fingers skimming her tight bundle of nerves as I rest my forehead against hers. “Fuck, I’m close.”
“Me too,” she whimpers, her hips rocking in time against my hand as she climbs toward her release.
I feel her walls quaking as my dick rubs that special spot inside her sex.
When she comes screaming my name, Bailey’s nails clench my back, digging into my skin as she holds on while riding out her orgasm.
The moment her tight walls squeeze my cock like a clenched fist, I pour myself into the condom.
My body jerks from the exertion, and I try my best to move off Bailey, but she surprises me when she wraps her arms around my neck and holds me close while dropping her legs on either side of my hips.
The room is quiet except for our ragged breathing and the soft percussion of rain against the windows.
The lamp light flickers from her nightstand and blurs at the edges of my vision. My pulse is finally beginning to come down from “overtime” levels. Bailey is sprawled half on top of me, her cheek pressed against my chest, one leg thrown over mine like she’s staking a claim.
My hand moves lazily up and down her spine, tracing the little bumps I learned by heart tonight.
She hums, the sound low and content, vibrating against my ribs. “That,” she murmurs, “was… not casual.”
I huff out a laugh that feels suspiciously like a choked sob. “No,” I agree. “That was pretty much the opposite of casual.”
She tilts her head back to look at me, hair mussed, lips a little swollen, eyes soft and still somehow sharp enough to see straight through me.
“You okay in there?” she asks, tapping lightly over my heart.
“I think my brain is still trying to reboot,” I admit. “It might be stuck on the loading screen where you—”
She slaps a hand over my mouth, laughing. “Do not narrate it,” she says, cheeks flushing. “We both know what happened. My nervous system is still processing it in 4K.”
I grin against her palm, then kiss the heel of her hand. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll keep the play-by-play internal.”
“Thank you,” she says primly, settling back down with a sigh. “Although, for the record, if this were a game, I’d say we both put some impressive numbers on the board.”
“Are we really turning this into a stats review?” I ask, amused.
“Sorry,” she says. “I cope with vulnerability by making jokes. It’s very mature of me.”
I tighten my arm around her, anchoring us both. “It’s my favorite thing about you,” I say quietly. “Well. One of them.”
She goes still. “You have a list?”
“Of favorite things?” I chuckle. “Yeah, Bailey. I’m not exactly subtle.”
“List them,” she says.
“Now?”
“Yes, now. You can’t just casually mention you have a list and then not share. That’s illegal.”
“Pretty sure it’s not,” I start, then trail off when she gives me the look. The one that used to undo me in high school and apparently still does. “Fine,” I say, dragging my hand slowly up and down her back in thought. “Your laugh. The way you snort when something actually gets you.”
She groans. “Oh my God, start with something flattering.”
“It is flattering,” I protest. “It means you’re not faking it.”
She pokes my side. “Next.”
“The way you talk about books like they’re people,” I say, more serious now. “Like they have feelings you’re worried about hurting.”
Her expression softens. “That’s just… basic empathy.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I like it. I like that you get defensive on behalf of fictional characters.”
She makes a thoughtful noise. “Okay, I’ll allow that one.”
“I like that you can’t stand when people dog-ear pages, but you’ll write in your own books like you’re having a conversation with them,” I say.
“And how you always pretend you don’t care about the tourists’ opinions, but you light up when they come back from vacation and tell you your recs made their trip. ”
She buries her face in my chest. “Stop, I’m actually going to cry.”
“I like that you care enough to cry,” I say, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “That you didn’t harden up just because life gave you reasons to.”
Her shoulders shake slightly under my hand. “Crew,” she whispers.
“And I like that you invited me to stay tonight,” I add. “That you chose me.”
She lifts her head again, tears bright in her eyes, but there’s a stubborn tilt to her chin. “I’ll probably need reminders that I’m allowed to keep choosing you,” she warns. “Years of training myself not to… it doesn’t undo overnight.”
“I have nothing but time,” I say. “I can run the drills with you as long as it takes.”
She laughs wetly. “Of course, you turned it back into sports.”
“It’s my thing,” I say. “You’re stuck with a guy whose whole personality is metaphors about fourth quarters and overtime.”
She studies me for a long moment, then reaches up and brushes her fingers along my jaw. “There are worse fates,” she says softly. “I’ve read about all of them.”
I thread our fingers together over my chest. The simple weight of her hand in mine feels more intimate in some ways than anything we did a few minutes ago.
Outside, a particularly strong gust hits the building, making the windows rattle and the bed frame creak.
Bailey tenses instinctively. I tighten my hold on her.
“Hey,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
“I know,” she says after a beat, relaxing again by degrees. “My logical brain knows the shop has survived storms way worse than this. My anxiety brain, however, is convinced we’re about to be airlifted into Oz.”
“If we wake up in Oz,” I say, “you’re in charge of directions. I’ll just follow you around and pretend I know what’s going on.”
“Good,” she says. “Because I’m not giving you control of the yellow brick road after you tried to shortcut the scenic route tonight.”
I raise a brow. “Shortcut?”
She smirks. “You were ready to sprint for the end zone, Wright. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“I was ready to respond to the play you were calling,” I correct, tapping her nose lightly. “You moved first.”
She flushes, but there’s pride in it. “Yeah,” she says. “I did.”
The quiet that settles after that feels different. Not heavy, exactly. Full.
“What happens now?” I ask before I can talk myself out of it.
Her brows knit. “You mean, like, immediately? Because immediately, I’m thinking we should probably drink some water and maybe stretch, because I am not twenty-two anymore and my hamstrings are—”
“Not what I meant,” I cut in, laughing. “I mean… with us. Tomorrow. The next day. When the storm’s over, and the town goes back to gossiping about bake sales and who’s repainting their porch.”
“Oh.” She drops her gaze to our joined hands, thumb rubbing slow circles over my knuckles. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I know what I want, though.”
My heart climbs into my throat. “What do you want?”
She lifts her eyes again, and there’s no hesitation there now. “I want you,” she says simply. “In my life. For real. Not just as the guy I almost dated once upon a time. Not just as the brother of my friend. Not just as the football star who blew back into town with a bum knee and a hero complex.”
“Hey,” I protest. “My knee is very sensitive about that description.”
She smiles, then sobers. “I want you as my partner,” she says. “My person. The one I call when the roof leaks or the car won’t start or a book breaks my heart. The one whose hand I reach for first when something good happens, or something terrible.”
The room tilts for a second. “Bailey,” I manage. “You’re going to give me a heart attack before I even get to play another season.”
Her face falls a fraction. “Too much?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not even close. I just… I didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”
“I’ve been ready for a long time,” she murmurs. “I’ve just been scared. And tired. And busy convincing myself that wanting you was the same thing as asking for drama.”
“And now?” I ask.