Chapter 27 #2
My jaw ached. My knees ached. My cock was so hard it hurt, trapped against my wet boxers with no friction, no relief. I didn't care. All I cared about was the weight of him on my tongue, the sounds he was making, the way his thighs trembled when I swallowed around him.
"I'm gonna come," he said, his grip tightening. "You're gonna swallow it. All of it."
I nodded as much as I could with his cock in my mouth.
He thrust twice more, driving deep, and then he was pulsing against my tongue and I swallowed and swallowed until he was done. His hand loosened in my hair, petting now instead of pulling, and when he finally slipped free of my mouth, I sagged forward against his thigh.
"There," he said, his thumb tracing my swollen lip. "That's what I needed."
The water pounded down on my back. My arms were still crossed behind me, my shoulders starting to burn from the position. Joel sank down to his knees in front of me, the soaked jersey clinging to him, and cupped my face in both hands.
"Your turn," he said. He kissed me slow, licking into my mouth like he was tasting himself there, and one hand slid down my chest, my stomach, into my boxers.
His fingers wrapped around me and I groaned into his mouth, my hips bucking forward. Four days of nothing, four days of sleeping next to him and wanting him and being too proud to beg, and now his hand was on me and I couldn't think.
"That's it," he said against my lips. "Let me hear you."
I braced my good hand on his shoulder, the wet jersey bunching under my fingers. He stroked me tight and even, his thumb circling the head on every upstroke, and I was already close, embarrassingly close, my whole body wound tight from kneeling for him.
"Joel—"
"I know." He kissed my jaw, my throat, then paused at the spot where neck met shoulder. "Can I?"
I hesitated, already running the math I always had to do: locker room, trainers, interviews. We'd fought about this before, after he left a bite mark on me and I'd panicked, and he'd been so careful ever since.
But I wasn't going back to the locker room for three months. No one would see me undressed until then. I could wear his mark on my skin until it faded, proof that I belonged to someone who wanted me badly enough to claim me where the world could see.
"Yes." My voice came out rough. "God, yes. Please."
He bit down hard enough to bruise, and I moaned so loud it echoed off the tile, my cock jerking in his hand. He sucked at the spot, tongue hot against the sting, and I wanted more, wanted him to cover me in marks, wanted to look in the mirror tomorrow and see evidence of this everywhere.
"I've got you," he said against my skin.
His free hand slid around to grip my ass, pulling me closer, and I fucked into his fist because I couldn't help it, couldn't do anything but chase the feeling. The water pounded down on us and steam filled the shower, and Joel's mouth was hot on my neck, and I was going to come, I was going to—
"Wait," he said, and his hand stopped moving.
A sound came out of me that might have been a sob.
"Look at me."
I forced my eyes open. Joel's face was inches from mine, water streaming down his cheeks, his hair plastered dark against his forehead. He looked wrecked and beautiful and completely in control.
"You're mine," he said. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Joel, please—"
His hand started moving again, faster and tighter, and I buried my face in his neck and let go. The orgasm hit me like a wave, pulling me under, and I shook apart against him while he stroked me through it, his other hand firm on the back of my neck.
When I could breathe again, my face was wet with more than shower water. Joel held me against his chest, the wet jersey rough against my cheek, and let me shake.
We stayed like that until the water started to cool. Then Joel reached past me to turn off the shower and pulled me to my feet. My knees buckled, and he caught me, one arm around my waist.
"Bed," he said.
"I can walk."
"Let me." He didn't let go.
He walked me to the bedroom, both of us dripping on the carpet, and stripped the wet boxers off me before pushing me down onto the mattress. Then he peeled off the jersey and climbed in beside me.
I pressed my face against his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady under my ear.
"I'm sorry," I said. "For what I said earlier. About not needing your help."
"Don't." His hand found my hair again, the touch gentle now. "You were right. I was smothering you."
"You weren't." I traced a line down his sternum. "I just don't know how to let someone take care of me."
"I noticed."
"I've been on my own a long time. Even when I wasn't, I was."
He was quiet for a long moment. The rain had started again outside, tapping against the windows.
"I wasn't just taking care of you," he said finally. "I was managing my own panic. You were hurt and I couldn't do anything about it, so I did everything else instead."
I lifted my head to look at him. "You were scared?"
"You almost bled out on the ice, Red. By the time I got to the hospital, you were already in surgery." His jaw tightened. "So yeah. I was scared."
I'd been so focused on my own frustration that I hadn't considered what it must have been like for him.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Don't apologize for getting hurt."
"I'm not. I'm apologizing for not seeing what you were going through."
His arms tightened around me. I found his hand with my good one and laced our fingers together.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I ignored it. It buzzed again.
"You should get that," Joel said.
I sighed and reached for the phone. Derek's name glowed on the screen.
"Hey," I said. "What's up?"
"It's Dad." Derek's voice was thick. "They're moving him to hospice."
I sat up, the sheet pooling around my waist, and Joel's hand fell away from my hair.
"What do you mean, hospice?"
"He stopped eating yesterday. Won't take fluids. The doctors say it's time to keep him comfortable."
"How soon can you get here?" Derek asked.
Joel sat up behind me, his hand warm on my lower back.
"I'll drive out tonight." My voice sounded far away, like someone else was speaking. "I can be there by morning."
"You sure? That's a long drive with your hand."
"I'll figure it out."
I hung up before he could say anything else. The phone sat heavy in my hand, the screen going dark.
"Red," Joel said quietly.
I didn't answer.
"Red."
"I need to pack." I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my back to him.
The room was cold after the warmth of his body.
"He probably won't even know who I am. Half the time he thinks I'm Derek.
The other half, he thinks I'm some stranger who broke into his room.
" The laugh that came out of me was ugly.
"Last time I visited, he asked the nurse to call the police. "
Joel's arms came around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. I went rigid.
"Let me go."
"No."
"Joel—"
"I'm not going anywhere." His mouth pressed against my shoulder, right over the bruise he'd left. "I'm right here."
I wanted to fight him, to shove him away and deal with this the way I always dealt with things. Alone. Behind walls I'd spent years building. But his arms were solid around me and his heartbeat was steady against my back and I was so fucking tired of being strong.
"I'm not ready," I said.
"No one ever is."
I turned in his arms and pressed my face against his neck. He held me while I let myself cry, his hand steady on the back of my head, saying nothing, just holding on.
When I finally pulled back, Joel's thumb traced the wet tracks on my cheeks.
"I'll drive you," he said.
"Joel." I pulled back enough to look at him. "If you drive me there, Derek's going to know. His wife has posters of you."
Joel's expression didn't change. "Is that a problem?"
I opened my mouth to say yes, of course it was a problem, I wasn't ready, I hadn't planned this. But my father was dying and Joel was offering to drive nine hours through the desert to be there with me, and suddenly the closet felt very small and very dark.
"I was going to tell him after the season. I had a plan."
"Plans change."
"What if it changes things?"
"It might." Joel's thumb traced my cheekbone. "But I'm not letting you drive nine hours with one hand, and I'm not putting you on a plane alone when your father is dying. So either I drive you or you tell me right now that you're not ready and I'll find another way."
My chest ached. This man, who'd been so patient with me, even when I'd pushed him away, was still giving me the choice.
"Drive me," I said. "If Derek figures it out, he figures it out."
"You sure?"
"No." I leaned forward and kissed him. "But I'm done hiding from the people who matter."
He kissed my forehead and climbed out of bed. "Pack a bag. I'll make coffee."
He pulled on his jeans, his t-shirt, moving through my apartment like he belonged there, like this was normal, like we were the kind of people who took care of each other.
Maybe we were.