Blake
I pull my truck into the parking lot of Mia's new apartment complex, the bed loaded with boxes I helped her pick up from storage.
She's already here, her car parked near the entrance to building C.
When I climb out, she waves from the second-floor landing, her dark hair catching the afternoon sunlight.
"Thank you so much for doing this," she calls down. "I really appreciate it."
"No problem." I grab two boxes that are sitting on the steps and head up the stairs. "That's what friends are for."
The apartment is small but clean. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room that opens into a galley kitchen.
Completely empty except for the boxes we start carrying in.
Mia moves with efficient purpose, directing where things should go.
She's wearing faded jeans and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
My eyes drop to her tight ass, framed so nicely in those jeans, and my mouth actually waters.
I don't even realize it's dropped open until she turns to look at me over her shoulder and I reflexively clamp it shut.
Jesus, I need to get a grip. I'm here to help a friend and colleague, not stare at her ass.
No matter how nice it is.
We work in comfortable silence for the first hour, making trips up and down the stairs.
I'm hyperaware of her presence in the small space.
The way her jeans hug her curves when she bends to pick up a box.
The glimpse of smooth skin at her lower back when her shirt rides up.
The flush in her cheeks from exertion that makes her blue eyes even brighter.
"Last one," I announce, setting a particularly heavy box in the living room.
Mia wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "I owe you big time. Let me at least get you a beer."
"You don't owe me anything, but I'll take that beer."
She disappears into the kitchen and returns with two bottles, condensation already forming on the glass.
We sink onto the floor, our backs against the wall, legs stretched out in front of us.
The apartment is quiet except for the distant sound of traffic and someone's television through the thin walls.
She hands me a beer and raises her own. I clink mine against hers with a smile, then take a long pull.
"So this is home now," Mia says, looking around the empty space.
"It's got good bones. You'll make it feel like home soon enough."
She takes a long drink, then sets the bottle between her knees. "I'm not sure I know what home feels like anymore. I mean, this was my home, where I grew up. But I thought my last place was home too. I feel like I'm just running."
The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest tighten. "Running from what?"
"Everything. Everyone." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Myself, mostly."
I want to ask more, to understand what drove her away from Riverside ten years ago, but I can sense the walls going up. Instead, I shift the conversation. "I get that. The running part, I mean."
Her eyes meet mine. "You do?"
"Yeah. When my knee gave out and ended my football career, I felt like I'd lost everything.
Football was supposed to be my future. Professional league, the whole dream.
" I roll my shoulder, an old habit from those dark days.
"When that door slammed shut, I didn't know who I was anymore.
Took me a long time to stop running from that loss and figure out coaching was where I belonged. "
Mia's expression softens. "I'm sorry. That must have been devastating."
"It was. But it taught me something important." I turn to face her more fully. "Sometimes the thing you're running from is exactly what you need to face to move forward."
She looks away, her fingers tracing patterns on the beer bottle. "What if facing it destroys everything?"
"What if not facing it destroys you?"
The question hangs between us. Mia's throat works as she swallows. When she looks back at me, there's something raw and desperate in her eyes that makes my pulse quicken.
"I had someone once," I continue, needing to fill the charged silence. "A fiancée. We were together for three years. She left six months after my injury."
"Because of the injury?"
"Because I wasn't the man she thought she was marrying. The football star with the bright future." I take a drink, the old bitterness still there but faded. "She wanted the dream, not the reality. When reality showed up with a busted knee and no professional contract, she was gone."
Mia's hand finds mine, her fingers warm and soft. "Her loss."
The touch sends electricity up my arm. I look down at our joined hands, then back up at her face. She's closer now, though I'm not sure which of us moved. I can see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, the way her lips part slightly as her breathing quickens.
"Mia." Her name comes out rougher than I intended.
"Blake." She says it like a question and an answer at the same time.
I should pull back. Should remember she's my colleague, that she's clearly dealing with complicated things, that I noticed the children's books in her boxes and the two small toothbrushes she quickly hid in the bathroom supplies.
She's keeping secrets, big ones, and getting involved with her is asking for complications I don't need.
But when she leans in, closing the distance between us, all those rational thoughts evaporate.
I cup her face in my hands, giving her every chance to change her mind, to pull away. She doesn't. Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her face up to mine with a soft sigh.
The first kiss is soft, tentative. Her lips are warm and taste like beer and something uniquely her.
When she makes a small sound in the back of her throat, something inside me snaps.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, and she responds with equal hunger, ramping my lust up even higher.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer.
God, that's hot. I shift, turning so I can press her back against the wall, my body covering hers.
She's all soft curves and warm skin, and I want to touch every inch of her.
If I'm being honest, I want to rip her clothes off, shred them to pieces just so I can get to her faster.
"Blake," she gasps when I break the kiss to trail my mouth down her neck. "We shouldn't."
"Tell me to stop." I nip at the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. "Tell me you don't want this." Dear God, don't tell me to stop! Don't tell me you don't want this!
"I can't." Her fingers dig into my shoulders. "God help me, I can't."
Thank you, God. I pull back enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with desire, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She's so damn sexy. My hands are actually trembling, surprising me.
"Are you sure?" I need to hear her say it.
"Yes." She reaches up and pulls my mouth back to hers. "I'm sure."
We shed clothes frantically, hands fumbling with buttons and zippers. When I pull her shirt over her head, I take a moment to appreciate the sight of her. Her breasts are full and perfect, barely contained by a simple black bra. But that has to go.
I unhook her bra and toss it aside, then lower my mouth to a breast. She arches into me, her fingers threading through my hair as I suck her nipple into my mouth. The sounds she makes drive me crazy, little gasps and moans that go straight to my cock.
"Blake, please." Her hands move to my shirt, tugging it up.
I help her, practically ripping it over my head.
Her eyes widen as she takes in my bare chest, and I feel a surge of masculine satisfaction at the desire in her gaze.
Her hands explore my shoulders, my chest, tracing the muscles with obvious appreciation.
Heat trails across my skin, following the path of her eager fingers.
"You're beautiful," she whispers.
I laugh, shaking my head. "You do know that's not really a compliment for a man, right?"
Her eyes widen slightly and she opens her mouth, but I kiss her before she can say anything. "Handsome is okay," I say against her lips. "Manly will work. But…" I pause and nip her bottom lip. "Gorgeous or godlike are preferred."
She chuckles as we quickly finish undressing, and then she's beneath me on the floor, completely bare and breathtaking. I take my time, kissing my way down her body, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan. When I settle between her thighs, she's already wet and ready for me.
But I don't enter her. Not yet. Instead, I rub my cock between her crease, soaking it with her wetness. We both groan at the same time and I grin, loving how responsive she is.
"What are you waiting for?" She demands. I love that she's impatient, too.
I position myself at her entrance, then push inside slowly. She's tight and hot, and the sensation is almost overwhelming. I force myself to go slow, giving her time to adjust, even though every instinct screams at me to thrust hard and deep.
"Okay?" I manage through gritted teeth.
"More than okay." She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. "Don't hold back."
Were there ever sexier words spoken by a beautiful woman? If so, I can’t think of any right now.
I shift the angle slightly and she cries out, her nails digging into my back. "There. Right there."
I hit that spot again and again, watching her face as pleasure builds. She's gorgeous like this, completely uninhibited, chasing her release. When her inner muscles start to flutter around me, I know she's close.
"Come for me," I growl against her ear. "Let go."
She shatters, her body arching off the floor, my name torn from her throat. The sight and feel of her orgasm triggers my own. I thrust deep one last time and follow her over the edge, pleasure crashing through me in waves.
We lie tangled together afterward, both breathing hard.
That was the most fantastic sex I've ever had.
Not just the sex, but the connection. The way she made me feel.
It was a little too intense, though, and I sit up.
I haven't had an emotional contact with a woman in years and it kind of freaks me out a little.
"Be right back," I say and quickly get to my feet, shrugging on my clothes as I rush to the bathroom. I just need a moment to think. To put a little space between us. As I look at my red face and wide eyes in the bathroom mirror, I shake my head and point a finger at myself.
"This is trouble," I say quietly. "She's trouble. You're going to fall for this one if you're not careful."
The bathroom is small but clean. I take care of business, then wash my hands at the sink.
That's when I notice the window above the toilet is unlocked, the latch clearly disengaged.
I lean closer, examining it. The window is old, the kind that slides up and down instead of to the side, and it's definitely not secured.
"Mia?" I call out.
She appears in the doorway wearing an oversized t-shirt that hits mid-thigh. "Yeah?"
"Did you leave this window open?"
She frowns and moves closer. "No. I haven't even been in here except to check that everything worked when I first looked at the place."
I slide the window up, and that's when I see it. Sitting on the narrow windowsill outside, perfectly placed and impossible to miss, is a long-stemmed red rose.