“Yes.”
He rolled the condom on and climbed over me, taking care not to crush me. Held up on one elbow, he reached down with his free hand and lined himself up with me. Circling me a few times, he teased me while covering himself in my wetness before pressing in. Slowly, he found his way deep inside me, filling me with an intense satisfaction. Together, we felt sweet.
He took his time, pumping slowly until I was clawing at his back and sweat had collected on his brow. I should have been afraid, there was over six feet of steel anchored over me, but instead I felt safe and secure. At least, at that very moment I did.
For the span of a few heartbeats, I allowed my mind to wander and think of the what if’s. What if he found out? What if he found someone else? What if this was all because of some plan to get back at Sonny?
I pushed all the worries to the back of my mind because the now felt too good. Blane Steele was inside me, riding me with fervor.
Oh. My. God.
And that’s exactly what I screamed when he swiveled his hips. So he did it again, harder, and in the other direction.
I came on a scream and Blane slid out, flipped me over, and grabbed me by the waist, pulling me up on all fours. With my knees and elbows sinking into the bed, he dived back in on one push and brought his hands to my hips. Gripping me firmly as his pelvis pumped against me, he brought himself to climax.
When we slumped down on the bed a ragged mess, Blane whispered in my ear, “Well, you worked off that cookie, sweetie.”
I couldn’t stop a big burble of laughter from rolling out of me. I’d just thought he was sweet, and he called me sweetie. An unfamiliar girlie part of my brain took over my thought process. I was all destiny, sweetness, and bliss.
Blane patted my butt, drawing me out of my Barbie-doll state, and went to dispose of the condom. I brought the blanket over my body when it dawned on me.
I just had some afternoon delight with Blane Steele.
Was he going to run out on me now? Did he still want me to go to breakfast with his mom? There was no such thing as destiny, so I didn’t think breakfast was still on the table.
Moments before, I was consumed with what if’s; now I was flooded with sheer what the hell’s?
Blane came back to bed and curled up with me under the covers, our legs tangled and his hand running up my arm in soothing strokes.
“You sure you can’t cancel your plans for tonight? I may even be able to find a funnel cake.”
“I can’t. I have to do this. It’s the only way I can justify being thrown out of my program.”
“But you can’t tell me what?” His hand stilled on my forearm.
“Not yet.”
“This isn’t a fling,” he said as his fingers picked up their stroking again.
“Either way, I can’t say. Not now. Hopefully, soon.”
I really needed to get my shit together. After a few more sessions with the women, I’d be able to bang out a first draft of what I wanted to write. It was my short foray into the industry I wanted to keep under wraps. I needed to ask Frank to pull the movies, but he’d already paid me and I’d spent the money. Would he do it?
Speaking of money, I needed some. Maybe Sonny would give me a quick shift or two, not as an intern, but he was bound to need help.
Ugh. Then I’d be back to kissing his ass.
“Earth to Cate,” Blane said, tugging at one of my curls. “Was that good for you?”
I nodded into his chest, afraid to express my desires and wants, and then I remembered the power of choice.
“Really good. Want to do it again,” I murmured against his skin, my finger tracing the tattoo by his pec.
It said my name. Wow.
“We can,” he said, running his hand down my thigh and back up again.
“We can?”
He pressed his erection into my side. And we did.
Blane insisted on taking me to an early dinner at the diner before I went on my secret assignment, as he’d begun to refer to it. The diner was an institution on Hafton’s campus, a greasy spoon specializing in breakfast and fried food, and they were always crowded. Pictures of all the winning sports teams lined the walls, and there was a special section devoted to Hafton alumni who went pro.
We sat right under Tiberius Jones’s photo. He stood tall and proud in his Brooklyn Nets uniform, but wearing a Hafton hat. He’d inscribed the photo along the bottom.
To the gang at the diner, where I took my lady on our first date. The ball was in my court.
Tiberius Jones, Hafton Ball Proud
Blane’s legs were stretched out under the table, mingling with my shorter ones.
“Hungry?” I asked as he studied the menu.
“Um, yeah. I worked up an appetite, Miss Oh-My-God.”
I kicked his shin. “Shhh. Shit, everyone is going to hear you,” I said through clenched teeth but with a smile. We really had worked up quite an appetite.
“Hi, Blane,” the waitress said, leaning over the table so her boobs practically spilled out of her uniform.