He looks up, blinking as he sees us in the mirror. Our reflections hold eye contact as he simmers with need.
“Do it,” I say again.
Bringing his hand away, he gives me a sharp slap.
I gasp, biting my lip as the delicious sting rockets from my ass straight to my clit. I groan, wiggling my hips a little as his hand drops down and smooths over the spot.
“Again,” I say, watching his reflection in the mirror.
He slaps me again, and we’re both groaning now. Dropping to one knee, he peppers kisses over the spot, soothing the burn with his tongue. Then he’s back on his feet.
Slap.
“Oh, god,” I whimper, loving that I get to watch the motion of his hand in the mirror. I can’t take much more teasing, though. My pussy is dripping. I need to come. “Fuck me, Ryan,” I beg. “Please, baby, please—”
He grabs me tight by the hips, one hand smoothing up my lower back, under my shirt, as he shoves his other hand between my thighs. His fingers open me up, then the head of his dick is there and I’m sinking back against him, hungry for that feeling of fullness.
God, I’ve missed fucking with real dicks. And Ryan’s is so pretty and long, and he knows just what to do with it. He gets himself in position, the tip of his dick sitting right where I want it. He looks up in the mirror, eyes dark, and nods. Holding each other’s gaze, I push, and he pulls, and I take him to the freaking hilt on a silent scream. The moment I feel his hips pressing against my ass, there comes a loud knock, ratting the metal door.
Bang. Bang.
I swallow my shriek, my thighs clenching around Ryan’s dick as he barks out, “In a minute!”
I tremble with a silent laugh, my hands still gripping tight to the sink.
“Hurry up in there,” the guy shouts back.
Ryan folds himself around me, his hands joining mine on the sink. “You heard him,” he says, playfully nipping my neck. “Hurry up and come before you get us thrown out.”
“Come with me,” I beg, holding his gaze in the mirror.
“Watch me. Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look away.”
“Oh god,” I whimper again, my lips parted as I breathe out. This is so erotic, so raw. I’ve never held this kind of eye contact with another person during sex before. I’ve never been able to see so much before. I can see him moving against me—my naked flesh, his grasping hands, my trembling shoulders.
He rocks his hips against my ass, his dick filling me so full. I hold tight to the sink, mesmerized as I watch him worship me. I meet him thrust for thrust, the flames of my orgasm burning hotter, spreading outwards.
“You’re so beautiful. You ride my dick like a queen. God—you’re all fucking mine—”
I tip my head back, fighting the urge to close my eyes, as his hand snakes around and begins teasing my clit. “Yes—yes—I’m so close—right there—” My words choke off on a squeak as I swallow a scream.
“Come,” he commands. “Finish with me.”
I shut my eyes, unable to take another second of this vulnerability, this connectivity. I let my every sense latch onto the physical as I shatter, undone by the way he makes me feel. I come so hard, my pussy clenching down tight on his dick as his hips stutter and he collapses over my back, coming inside me. His hands cover mine on the sink as he looks for something to hold on to, something to anchor him as he comes apart. Someone.
Me.
He’s holding on to me. We’re holding on to each other. The terrifying truth hits me as our eyes connect in the mirror again and I see that perfectly sated look on his face. He’s happy. He’s so goddamn content. He’s here for me. He wants me.
But this can’t last. This won’t last. Nothing ever does. I’m broken, and I break things. We’re holding on to each other so tight because we know this ship is already sinking. And I’m the iceberg. It’s always me.
The clock is ticking. It pulses in my ears to the rhythm of the Prince cover band playing not twenty feet away from us on the other side of that locked door. Tick, tick, tick.
How soon before he lets go?
How soon before I’m back to saving myself?
It’s time to do what I do best. It’s time to let go first.
49
“Wait, say that again,” I say, heart in my throat.
Doc Brady just laughs. “You heard me, Langley.”
I grin ear to ear, swinging my legs off the PT table. “Yeah, but I’m gonna need you to say it again.”
“You’re cleared, Langley. You can start skating again,” he repeats.
My heart does a double flip. “Doc, I’m gonna kiss you on the lips,” I tease, hopping off the table and holding my arms open.
He laughs and steps back. “I think my fiancé will object. He’s very territorial.”
I drop my hands. “Yeah, he’d probably kill me.”
“No lie,” he says with a satisfied smirk, his eyes back on his tablet.
Doc Brady’s fella is an MMA fighter or something like that. I met him last week. He’s tattooed and burly with a mafia vibe and a lip piercing. He clashes spectacularly with Brady’s clean-cut, nerdy look, but who am I to judge when opposites attract?
Brady glances over the rim of his square-framed glasses at me. “We’re gonna keep you in the compression sleeve for a bit yet, just to give the knee some added stability.”
“Yeah, cool,” I say with a nod.
“And I want you sticking to the ice routine morning and night. And you said you’ve been using the sauna to help with inflammation?”
I bite back my smirk. Sure, we’ll go with that. “Yeah, saunas. I’m a recent convert. Highly restorative.”
“Well, good. Keep it up. Your range of motion is great. Strength and conditioning team are all pleased. Scans look good. Pain and inflammation are managed. At this point, if I keep you off the ice any longer, you’re liable to cause a new injury out of sheer boredom. Am I right?”
“Doc, I’m climbing the damn walls,” I reply earnestly.
He laughs, giving my shoulder a pat. “Then get out of here, Langley. Go join practice.”
“And I’m cleared for the game this Saturday?”
“So long as you make it through practice in one piece, I don’t see why not,” he replies.
I practically fly out of the physical therapy center and through the gym, pulling my phone from my pocket. I instantly dial Tess, holding the phone up to my ear.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey—”
“Babe, I’m cleared,” I say with a huge grin.
“Oh—” I hear the sound of a shuffle. “Hold on—”
I keep moving down the hallway towards the locker room as she goes quiet on her end. She’s back in moments.
“Ry, that’s wonderful news,” she says. “Did Rachel clear you?”
“Well, Brady did, but yeah,” I reply.
“That’s so great. I’m so happy for you.”
Her voice is like a shot of serotonin straight to my chest. I keep smiling as I hurry down the hallway. “Yeah. I’m cleared for Saturday’s game, and I want you to go. Tess, I want you there.”
“You want me to go to your game?” she says, and I know she’s looking for an exit.
Fuck.
She’s been doing this all damn week. It’s like, when we’re together, everything is perfect. She’s present and loving and so much damn fun. We laugh together and talk. It’s never been so easy for me to just be with someone. Last night, she even let me walk her through the basics of Mario Kart. She was bored for every second of it, but then as a tease she blew me while I tried to play a round. I lost. Fucking worth it.
When we’re together, we don’t feel like two people at different stages of life who want different things. Nothing feels awkward or forced or rushed. She’s cool and funny, and she’s so sexy it will quite literally kill me.
I just want a chance. I want her to stop thinking about life as a chase where she’s perpetually on the run. What is it gonna take to let me catch her?
“I’m not sure tomorrow will work,” she says. “I’ve got a lot of planning to do for the gala next week.”
“Well, that works perfectly,” I reply, forcing my tone to stay bright. “Because tomorrow is Friday. You can work tomorrow and come have fun at the game Saturday.”
“Ryan—”