Chapter 15 #2
I take her chin in my hands and tilt her face up until I slide all the way out of her mouth, but she’s still got the base of me firmly in her hand. Her lips are wet and her eyes are wild as she looks up at me. “The first time we do this, I’m coming inside you.”
“That’s fair,” she says as her lips curve into a smirk. She stands. “The inside of me feels amazing, if I do say so myself.”
Holy shit.
I push her backward onto my mattress, pull my shirt over my head, and pull her knees up over my shoulders as I kneel at the end of the bed.
She’s laid bare before my face, her slick folds are mesmerizing in their silkiness.
I run my tongue over her clit and watch as her entire body convulses in response.
It only takes a few more passes of my tongue over that sensitive area before she’s saying my name with reverence and longing.
I enter her again with two fingers while my tongue works her clit, and she lets out a guttural moan.
I know she’s extraordinarily close, so I slow down.
“Don’t stop,” she says with that throaty voice that’s sexy as hell. “Please, Sasha, I’m so close.”
I keep up the slow pace even as she wants more.
“Please, Sasha, make me come.”
I’m so hard I’m going to explode if I don’t get inside her soon, so I continue as she asked. She’s chasing her first orgasm and in my mind I’m already planning out her second.
“Yes,” she chants, as I feel her muscles contract around my fingers. “Yes, yes, yes.”
I slow my assault, giving her a moment to ride the wave of her orgasm, then I stand and reach my arm under her back as I drag her up the bed with me. “I told you you’d beg,” I say, brushing my lips across her eyebrow.
She reaches behind me and smacks my ass in response. “I let you make me beg.”
“Whatever you say.” She rolls her eyes at me as I reach over to the nightstand where I keep my condoms, even though I’ve never once brought a girl back to my place. The thought of sharing my own bed with someone has never crossed my mind. Until tonight.
She sits up, taking the condom from me where I stand on both knees in front of her, then tears it open and rolls it on. The feel of her fingers skimming over my erection has my eyes rolling back in my head.
“Not too quickly,” she says as she looks up at me through her eyelashes. “You owe me at least one more orgasm.”
I push her shoulder so she falls backward onto the pillow, then drop my hand on one side of her head so I’m propped up over her. “Are you always this demanding?”
“There’s nothing wrong with a girl who knows what she wants and goes after it.” Her eyes challenge me to disagree.
“There certainly isn’t.” In fact, there is nothing sexier than a confident woman who knows what she wants in the bedroom.
Sliding into her feels like coming home, like making a full circle.
I’ve wanted her and us and this for what feels like my entire life, and so I refuse to think about all the reasons that I insisted it was impossible.
Instead, I focus on her face—the bright blue eyes that are locked on mine, the straight ridge of her small nose, the perfect Cupid’s bow at the top of her full lips—as I pause, giving her time to adjust to me.
She reaches up, cupping the side of my face in her hand. “What are you waiting for?”
I pull out about halfway and slide back in slowly, and the small moan that escapes her mouth has me gritting my teeth.
Her dark hair is splayed around her, the silky strands so different but no less sexy than her normal curls.
Her lips are swollen and her breath is coming in shorter pants, her ribcage expands and contracts with each inhale and exhale and the way her breasts roll with the movement has me wanting my mouth on them again.
I pull out again and slide back into her, trying to memorize the feel of her skin sliding along mine and the way her muscles grip me as I enter her.
She slides her hands from my face down to my neck.
“Yes.” Has one word ever sounded so right before?
My hips start moving to their own rhythm and she matches each thrust with the upward motion of her own hips.
I’m trying to focus on her face, on the way her half-closed eyes are focused on my lips, the way her mouth is parted and letting out small gasps of pleasure.
But I’m again distracted by the way those perfect breasts are bouncing with each thrust of my hips and I just want my mouth on them, which is impossible from this angle.
So I sweep my arm under her back, and lift her with me as I sit back on my heels.
With her thighs spread on either side of my hips and her legs wrapped around my lower back, I can’t imagine that I could penetrate her any deeper than I already am.
She rocks her hips away and toward me and moans another “Yes!” as I hit the deepest recesses of her.
Then she leans back a little, resting one of her hands on the bed behind her while the other grips my neck, and with her back arched like this, those sexy-as-fuck pale pink nipples are pointed up like she’s waiting for me to devour them.
I bend my head down, sucking first one, then the other, into my mouth.
Petra’s arched body slides along my abdomen as we move in tandem, joining and parting, skin slapping each time she sinks down onto me.
I lift my mouth from her and try to memorize each movement, each moment, each look she gives me, but there’s not enough time.
We’re both panting and I’m already feeling that tightening at the base of my spine.
I grit my teeth and increase the pace, biding my time and watching as she half closes her eyelids while her lips part.
I swear the sound of our bodies meeting is the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard, until she whispers, “Fuck, yesss.”
Her muscles are clenching and releasing rhythmically, and she’s bucking her hips wildly against mine.
I hold back as long as I can, wanting her to ride out every second of this orgasm, and then I move my hands to both her hips, pulling her down to me over and over as I spill everything I have into her.
We collapse back onto the bed, me on top of her. I want to prop myself up on my elbows but I can’t muster the energy, so I roll to my side instead, bringing her with me so we’re facing each other.
“Why haven’t we done this before?” she asks.
I just stare at her, unsure how to respond.
“Did you not want me like this, back when we were teenagers? Did you just think of me like a little sister?”
Her question stuns me. “I’ve never thought of you like a little sister, which is half the problem.”
“I don’t see why that’s a problem. But what’s the other half of the problem?”
I can’t tell her the truth about my dad and her mom, can’t tell her that her mom and brother’s blood is on his hands—or that I’ve known about it the whole time.
I can’t tell her that I kept her in the friend zone out of guilt and a respect for my dead best friend, and so I wouldn’t have to tell her the truth about her father’s role in this arranged marriage.
So instead, I say, “It’s just an expression. ”
I reach my fingers up and trail them along her face, noticing how her features soften. It’s like watching someone let down their metaphorical guard.
“You really hurt me,” she says. “Back when you left.”
“I know.” I see the question in her eyes, but I can’t answer it. I want to tell her that I had to, but I won’t have an explanation if she asks “why.” So instead, I opt for another truth. “And I’ve never not been sorry about it.”
She stretches herself over to me and takes my lips in hers, kissing me slowly, lazily, like we have all the time in the world.
But we don’t. Stella will be back midmorning tomorrow, and we have a lot of catching up to do before then.
I deepen the kiss and run my hand up the side of her thigh, along her obliques, over her breast, and then down her abdomen to her center.
She pulls back and looks at me. “Already?”
“Don’t plan on sleeping tonight,” I tell her, then pull her against me to begin round two.
I know she’s in the stands, but I’ve managed not to look for her this entire game.
I’ve never let my eyes track up to the eighth row where I know she’s sitting.
I can’t let her presence here distract from my game.
In the regular season, that wouldn’t be okay.
In the playoffs, it would be unforgivable.
Head down, I take the puck up the outside, passing it to Thompson just before their left defenseman reaches me.
Thompson stops the puck, spins, fakes a pass to me and instead slaps it to Ottowan, who acts like he’s taking a shot on goal but instead passes it across the ice right to where I’m waiting.
I slap it into the top right corner of the net.
The horn signaling the goal echoes in my ears. I skid across the ice on my knees, then hop up to my feet, holding my stick in the air.
My eyes involuntarily turn up, searching for Petra exactly where I know she’ll be. She’s holding Stella up so she can see, while jumping up and down cheering. Her cheeks are pink, her smile is huge, and her straight hair is tucked behind one ear.
It feels like the muscles in my chest have tightened, so much so that it’s hard to breathe.
That C on the jersey she’s wearing—without even seeing the sleeve, I know she’s wearing my number.
I know my name is printed across her back, like I can see it printed across Stella’s, and the clarity of what I want is astounding: she should be, and in many ways already is, mine.
As much as I’ve fought against that desire my whole life, I realize it’s fruitless.
I will never be happy until we’re together.
It’s the inevitable ending of our story.
She glances down at me, her eyes locking with mine, and I can no longer hear the thousands of cheering fans, I can only hear the thumping of my heartbeat, which sounds like it’s between my ears.