20. Cecelia #2
My cheeks flush but I can’t tear my eyes away when he rolls the condom on. His hands are so big and sure in their movements. I want those hands on me again, just as confident and steady in the way they touch me.
He checks in again when he’s done, his dark eyes intent on my face. “Still okay?”
“Better than okay.”
He grins, the sight taking my breath away. I really like intense, broody Solomon, but happy Solomon might just be my favorite.
The smile only slips from his face when he settles against me and pushes inside. He squeezes his eyes shut, looking almost pained, and I pull him against me so our chests are flush, rubbing a hand up and down his back.
“You feel so good, baby,” he mumbles against my neck. Usually, I don’t go for pet names, but something about him calling me that in his low, raspy voice has fresh heat zinging through me.
“So do you,” I gasp.
“Wanted this for so long, Cecelia,” he says, and his voice sounds almost awed.
“Please,” I beg, tilting my hips restlessly. “I need you, Solomon.”
He doesn’t make me wait. Instead, he latches his eyes to me as he moves. I can feel the intensity of his gaze on my face, like he’s taking note of my every reaction, fascinated to see what makes me feel good, that focus clear in his eyes.
I try to hold his gaze but it’s too much. He feels too good and his focus is too intense but I still want more. I want more of his hands on me, more of the feel of his body against mine, more of his heated looks and his desperate kisses.
More of the awed way he whispers my name as he brings me right to the edge again.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs as he watches me slip over, as something white hot and overwhelming erupts inside me. “Perfect, Cecelia.”
And when he finally shudders and comes apart, I realize I’m saying the same thing.
Perfect.
I feel out of it, like I’m drunk on him, as he collapses on top of me, breathing hard.
I sense more than see him moving next to me, rearranging my body until I’m splayed against his side.
He kisses my face, over and over again, his breath coming in shaky pants while I try to bring my brain back online.
Finally, I manage to open my eyes and peer up at him. He’s staring down at me with the most beautiful expression on his face. Happy—he looks really, really happy.
“Was it worth the wait?” I whisper.
He pulls me closer, tucking my head against his chest. “I’d wait a lifetime for you, Cecelia.”
I know that I should go back to my room, but moving feels impossible.
I’ve never felt so sated in my life, all warm and content cuddled up with him.
He makes me get out of bed around midnight so he can ice my knee.
I request a massage to go along with it and pretty soon his hands are moving in places that have absolutely nothing to do with my injury.
The second time is as good as the first. Maybe even better, because he takes his time. It’s becoming pleasantly apparent to me that Solomon’s tendency to over-focus on a task is working in my favor.
“Will your roommate wonder where you are?” he asks later, running his hand down my back.
We’re laying side by side, me on my stomach, him on his side.
His fingers are gentle as they dance down my spine, his eyes following their every moment like he finds the sight of them against my skin fascinating.
“Nah. I told her I was meeting up with a friend and not to wait up. They were all going out dancing, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up crashing in someone else’s room anyhow.”
That has me realizing something, and I lift my head from the pillow, looking around. “Hey, you don’t have a roommate.”
He grins. It looks a little dopey and adorably boyish. “You’re just noticing that now?”
“I was a bit distracted earlier,” I say drily, and he laughs, pulling me back down and arranging me so my head is on his chest again.
“I’m the only male student on the trip. They weren’t going to have me room with one of the actual staff members.”
“I guess that would be weird,” I concede. “Still pretty bullshit that this is a women’s soccer trip and you’re still coasting on your male privilege.”
He laughs again, kissing the top of my head, and I’m sure my smile is plenty dopey, too.
“Sleep here?” he asks quietly. “We can set an alarm so you get back to the room before anyone is up.”
I know I should decline. The longer I stay here the more we risk someone finding out. And the last thing I want is to mess with Solomon’s position in the trainer’s program.
But his arms are wrapped tight around me and I can feel the beat of his heart under my ear. I’m warm and my body feels all loose and languid. My knee doesn’t even hurt for once. The thought of getting up is horrible.
“We’ll set an alarm,” I agree, cuddling in closer, relishing the way he sighs, as if in relief. I’m vaguely aware of his arm leaving my body for a moment, of the sounds of him tapping on a phone screen, but I’m in that floaty, pre-sleep space and I don’t look up.
“Thank you for coming over tonight, Cecelia,” I hear him whisper.
I’m pretty sure I manage to thank him for letting me in before I fall asleep in his arms.
I expect things to be awkward in the morning, but Solomon barely moves when his alarm goes off.
He grumbles something about it being too early as he slaps at the buttons to turn it off, then rolls right back over and starts snoring.
Jay had mentioned that he doesn’t sleep much when he has one of his rough nights.
I feel a pang as I watch him, wondering if he slept at all the other night after seeing his mom.
I scrawl out a quick note letting him know I’ll see him on the bus, then call the automated number listed on the room phone to request a wakeup call for him in two hours.
I stand at the side of the bed like a creeper for a long time, watching him, all long-limbed and sprawled on the mattress.
He looks so different when he’s sleeping.
All of the tension he usually carries is gone, leaving him looking soft and warm and relaxed in a way I never see during the day.
The idea of climbing back into his bed is very tempting, but I need to not be selfish—he’s the one who’s going to be screwed if we get caught.
So I press a final kiss against his hair before I slip out into the hallway, looking both ways first to make sure no one is around.
My room is empty, so Helen must have crashed with the other girls after their night out.
I manage to grab another hour of sleep before I need to get up and get ready for the ride back.
When I get out of the shower, there’s a text from Sol on my phone.
I should probably be embarrassed by how eager I am to read it but at least there’s no one around to catch the expression on my face as I open the message.
Solomon: You should have woken me up.
Me: I think you mean “thanks for letting me sleep.”
Solomon: Thanks for letting me sleep.
Solomon: And thanks for letting me do all of those dirty things to you last night.
My cheeks heat as a film reel of those dirty things runs through my mind. I stare at my phone, unable to come up with a single thing to say. Thanks for the best sex of my life? Thanks for multiple orgasms? Before I can type anything, another message appears from him.
Solomon: Jesus, that was lame, wasn’t it? I’m so not good at sexy texting.
I laugh, fondness for this man overwhelming me.
Me: You’re not as bad as you think. You made me blush, which has to be a good sign.
Solomon: God, I love it when you blush.
Solomon: You blushed a *lot* last night.
Of course, Helen has to choose that moment to stumble in, clearly hungover and grumpy. “Coffee,” she moans. “Dying.”
I roll my eyes and type out a quick text to let Sol know before I go to help her. The morning moves quickly after that. We need to be packed up and ready for breakfast with the team before we board the bus. Helen whining about her hangover every second is almost enough to ruin my post-sex glow.
But Solomon is waiting for me outside the banquet room where we’re supposed to be eating, and just the sight of him brings back all those lovey-dovey feelings from the night before. God, I’m in trouble. He has way too much of an effect on me.
But the first words out of his mouth bring me right back down to earth. “I think we should talk to Devon about your knee.” I frown. While we’d agreed last night that I would tell the head trainer I was having discomfort, I wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly.
Sol must see my reaction because he takes a step closer, gentling his voice.
“You should probably have compression on the ride home. Or at least get it taped up. And it needs to be elevated in the bus.” When I don’t say anything, he circles my wrist with his hand, giving a gentle squeeze.
“This is the kind of thing the training staff should know about.”
I sigh, not meeting his eyes. “Fine.”
I feel another squeeze before he releases my wrist. “It’s going to be okay.”
Devon is totally cool when Sol tells him about the post-game swelling. But I know he’s going to tell the coaching staff, and that makes dread pool in my belly. He wants to do the tape himself, which is kind of a relief. I’m not sure letting Solomon touch me right now is the best idea.
And maybe that’s proof enough that last night was a mistake.
But how could it be a mistake when it felt so perfect?
The bus ride back is subdued. A lot of the girls are hungover which means I dropped the ball as captain last night.
I still can’t make myself regret it, though.
Instead, I sit by myself near the training staff with my leg elevated on the seat beside me.
Every hour or so Devon comes over to do some light range of motion exercises—basically bending and straightening my knee a bunch of times to keep the blood flowing. Real exciting stuff.