Chapter Twenty-Five Randall
I’m in a garden on a late summer day. My body is overheating, and my skin is extra sensitive. The wind moving my shirt feels like teasing hands. The whiff of flowers urges me to inhale deeply. In my dreams, the clouds overhead whisper my name.
“Randall. Randall.” It’s Elise’s melodious voice, along with the memory of her taste, that gets me so hard it hurts. Reaching down to grab my cock, I—
“Randall, honey, come to bed.”
Awareness of soft fingers running over my forehead prompts me to open my eyes. In the haze of drowsiness, I see her. Elise’s hair falls over each shoulder as she looks down, her lips inches from my own.
“What time is it?”
“It’s four in the morning. I fell asleep, too. Come to bed. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, OK? You don’t fit on this couch. I don’t know much about athletic training, but I’m pretty sure waking up with a cranked neck won’t bode well.”
Our fingers entwine. Her slight tug gets me on my feet.
That’s when I see it. My number on her sleeve. Elise is wearing my jersey, and fuck if that isn’t the best way to wake up.
“How’s your wrist?”
“I took a Tylenol. It doesn’t hurt very much at all. Let’s get a few more hours of sleep before I have to get ready to leave.”
There are so many questions but only one that really matters once I notice her bare legs.
“What are you wearing under that jersey, Elise?”
“You’ll have to come to bed to find out.”
“Fuck, baby, seeing my name on your body is goddamn hot.”
Her laugh tinkles in the dark bedroom. I sit at the edge of the bed. Instead of going to the other side, Elise stands between my legs with her arms around my neck. My fingers fiddle with the back of her knees, fighting the impulse to grab her ass.
“Well? Do you or don’t you want to know what I wear with your jersey?”
“Fuck yeah, I do.”
She bends down to grab my wrists higher, and I take over, my hands roaming up and down her hamstrings before finally cupping her ass.
“Goddamn, Elise, is that a g-string?”
“It is. Though not just any g-string.” She whips the jersey off and I find myself in sensory overload. Her breasts are at eye level, nipples strained with need. Her soft stomach trembles to the rhythm of shaky breaths. And lower.
“That’s…that’s a Mavericks logo.” On the tiny triangle covering her mound is my team’s name and colors.
“Do you like it? Lily printed the logo on transfer paper and ironed it on. She gave it to me when she visited.”
“Lily is a genius,” I say past a parched throat. “Can I touch you there, baby?”
“Yes, Randall, touch me everywhere.”
“But this isn’t a hookup,” I insist because no fucking way I’m backing down about that.
I did not keep my dick in my pants all night just to cave in to sexy underwear, team logo included.
“It isn’t a hookup,” she agrees.
“I want to make love to you,” I say with conviction.
“I want that, too, although…” She pauses. “Please tell me you won’t stop, um, well—”
“Fucking you hard, the way you like it? Not sure I could stop if I tried. Is that what you want, Elise?”
“Yes, sir. Please fuck me so hard I forget you’re making love to me,” she says with a smile that lights up the dark room.
Her sweet, innocent smile is what I focus on when I rip my clothes off. Can’t trust that looking at her breasts won’t get me off. If that happens before I’m inside her, kill me now.
“Come on top of me, baby,” I order while positioning myself against the headboard.
She crawls over to straddle my hips. I devour each of her breasts thoroughly, licking and loving each one like I’m apologizing for neglecting them all these weeks. They’re so soft and sweet.
Elise gets worked up, grinding her cunt over me so my shaft is coated in her arousal.
“Where are your condoms?” I rasp.
“I’m on birth control since my last checkup. And I’m clean, so if you want to, you know.”
I stop kissing her skin, although my hands remain in an iron grip around her hips.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Come inside me.”
“I don’t have sex without a condom, Elise.”
“Good thing we’re making love then.”
We lock eyes and it’s like she’s already penetrated me before I’m inside her. She’s in my blood.
“That’s right, Elise. We’re making love. Move that g-string aside so I can fill you up. Say it.”
“Yes, sir,” she pants, pulling at the Mavericks logo while cresting my hardness at her entrance.
When I slip into her liquid heat, Elise makes a sound between a groan and a sigh. It’s so sexy, my balls tighten to a sharp ache.
The sensation is so much more intense without the barrier of a condom. Holding everything tightly so I don’t explode like a bomb, I arrange her limbs to ensure her wrist is comfortable over my shoulder.
Our bodies find a rhythm that’s only ours, a primal dance I want to last forever. My hard pecs glide against her supple breasts. My hands roam. Our most intimate parts grind together in relentless swirls of our hips.
Pleasure radiates from every point of contact as well as in places no one has ever reached. Inside me.
I feel the connection in my chest. Pulling, pulling, pulling until my heart is ripped out of me and laid at her feet.
We climax together, the sounds of ecstasy swallowed by a deep, mind-blowing kiss.
Later, when we lie on our sides looking at each other, Elise’s eyes are heavy, and her wrist rests on her hip. She’s the picture of relaxation.
“I’m glad you visited me today,” she mumbles drowsily.
“Me too.”
“I wish I could show you around. Cleveland is really cool.”
“Someone told me the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is worth a visit.”
“It is! You should do it tomorrow. I mean, if you plan to stay in town,” she says hesitantly. “Can’t imagine you’ll want to hang around the theater for hours again.”
“I loved it. Watching you work was incredible.”
“So, you don’t have to head back to Columbus tomorrow?”
“Since I was dying to see your play, anyway, is it OK if I stay till the opening?”
Her eyes pop wide, no longer hooded with drowsiness.
“Really? You’ll stay for a week?”
“Yeah. I might head back to grab clothes, but I can do that while you’re working. Don’t want to wear gray sweatpants when I escort the playwright and director on the red carpet.”
Elise snorts adorably. “Regional theaters don’t roll out red carpets.”
“They should!” I exclaim, appalled.
She smiles and scoots closer. My fingers find the back of her neck and my lips fuse with hers. When we come up for air, she sighs.
“I won’t have time to be with you. I’ll hardly be home,” Elise says regretfully.
“I’ll be here when you do have time. Someone’s got to get your bra off.”
She giggles. “You sure you’re not missing anything with work and stuff?”
“No more than I’d miss you,” I blurt before I can stop myself. The words are true, but the sentiment is alien. I’ve never felt this attached to a person before.
Am I coming across as desperate? Fuck, I don’t want to scare her off.
“I’d love for you to stay,” she mumbles, appeasing my stress.
Within minutes and without knowing how much her words mean to me, Elise falls asleep.
I run my fingers through her thick, wavy hair. Her pretty features soften as she’s pulled into deep slumber. Everything falls away because I’m suddenly overwhelmed.
A deep longing settles in my bones when I realize I want to watch her fall asleep every night.
No, that’s not even the full truth.
This isn’t about sharing a bed. I want to share a home and build a life with the woman in front of me.
I didn’t just make love to Elise. I’m in love with her.
Those words should shock me, but they represent a recognition instead of a revelation. As in, no shit Haughland.
I’ve never fallen in love before, so I’m slow on the uptake, but what else would I call spending every conscious moment wanting to be with her? Some unconscious moments, too, if you count all the times she’s occupied my dreams.
This is no longer a choice between sex or friendship. She is simply my person and I’m hers.
Does she feel the same way?
Should I ask?
Wait, what exactly is my question?
Hey, Elise, I know you said you weren’t into commitment, but since you’re cool with me sleeping over now does that mean we can throw all the rules out?
When she wakes in the morning, will she want me the way I want her?