I snort trying to hold in my laugh. “Kissing cobras?”
“I don’t fucking know,” he says, his hips already moving against mine. “I’m sure it’s a thing.”
“I’m willing to try the pretzel twist,” I tease. “But I don’t think I have the right anatomy to play kissing cobras with you.”
“Stop talking,” he says, leaning down to kiss my lips. It’s our first kiss this morning, and it almost surprises me how eager I am for it.
My fingers tangle into his messy hair and I pull him back down to me, kissing him again.
“No distractions is what I mean,” he says. “Just you and me. Together.”
“You and me,” I whisper against his mouth, shifting my hips to part my legs wider for him. We both gasp as we feel him slide against me.
He groans, curling his body over mine, dropping his face to kiss my breasts as a hand slips between us, angling his dick towards my entrance. “Now?” he pants.
I nod, my hands gripping to his shoulders.
He presses in, wetting the tip of his dick. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
“I’m ready,” I whimper, lifting my knee and putting my foot flat on the mattress. “Don’t be gentle. Take me. Take—ahh—”
He slams in with his hips, sinking inside me. We both tremble at the moment of connection, adjusting our hold on each other before he begins to move again, pressing up and in with his dick, filling me.
I arch my back, raising my hands up over my head. His hands follow, gripping to my wrists as we get tangled in my curls. He holds me like that, grinding against me as we gaze into each other’s eyes. I don’t want to break this connection we have. Clearly, he doesn’t either.
“Look at me,” he whispers, his green eyes boring into my soul.
“I am,” I reply, panting as I feel my release building inside me. The weight of him on top of me, the feel of him pinning me down, his dick moving inside me—it’s all too much. I feel so overwhelmed, my every sense firing.
He’s right, playing with toys is fun, and the orgasms we give each other are otherworldly, but this feels divine on a whole different level. This is connection. This is raw intimacy. Who knew good, old-fashioned missionary sex with a boy could have me about to cry?
Tears sting my eyes as he drops one hand between us, working my clit.
“I’m close,” I say, my body coming alive at that first touch. Fire races across my skin as electricity hums down my bones, making my toes curl. “Baby, I’m so close—”
“Me too,” he groans. “Fuck, I can feel you. You’re so tight. Come with me.”
I squeeze him, my core aching for release as I hold tight to his shoulders. “Kiss me.”
He kisses me, and then we’re both coming. His hips jerk against me, and he groans against my lips, chasing his release. I hold tight to his shoulders, feeling my own orgasm tear through me. I cling to him, our naked bodies sheened in sweat as we both fight the urge to tremble.
He sinks his full weight on top of me with a breathless groan. Then he’s rolling back to his side, his dick slipping free as he pulls me with him. We catch our breath, cheeks flushed as we just share air. In this moment, things feel perfect. I don’t want anything to change.
“Stay,” I murmur, ready to cancel all my plans. And I don’t just mean for today. “Stay here with me.”
He searches my face, brushing my hair back. I can feel his cum leaking out of me. I feel warm and sleepy. I feel cherished. I inch closer, holding his gaze. He licks his lips, and I think I know what he’s about to say. My heart is racing. I lean in.
“Tess, I…”
I wait, hopeful, expectant. Behind me, my phone rings, making us both jump. It’s set to vibrate, too, so it skitters across the side table with each jingling buzz.
“I have to get that. It’ll be Cheryl. She’s probably waiting for me already.”
He nods. “Answer it. I have to shower anyway. Game day starts early.”
The phone keeps buzzing.
“You were about to say something,” I press, searching his face, but he’s already shifting away.
“I’ll see you tonight, right? You’re coming to my game?”
I nod.
“Good. Then we’ll talk again tonight.”
Masking my disappointment, I roll over to snatch up my phone. “Hey, Cheryl,” I say, my tone all false brightness.
Ryan comes around the side of the bed and bends down to kiss my forehead. I watch him walk away, his naked hockey butt glowing white against the rest of his sun-kissed skin.
“Tess? Hello?”
Shit, Cheryl is talking.
“What? I’m sorry, Cher,” I say, swinging my legs off the bed. “Yes, I’m here. I’m running a little late, but I’m on my way.”
56
“And we’ve had confirmation from the Jacksonville Zoo Animal Ambassador Program,” says Cheryl, ticking another thing off her list. “They’ll be there to set up at 6:30 p.m., and they’ll stay for one hour.”
“And they’re bringing a gopher tortoise?” I say, tapping out the last line of my email.
“Yes, and his name is Bandit,” she replies. “I mean, just look at that face.” She flashes me her phone screen over top of my laptop, showing me a video of a large gopher tortoise eating lettuce.
“Ugh, the strong silent type and he’s health-conscious? Have I just met my soulmate?” I tease.
She laughs, tucking her phone away as she rattles off three more things from her list. We’ve been like a hive of buzzing bees in the office all day. Joey is over at the venue now, overseeing the DJ delivery and set-up. And Nancy is out haunting all the local party supply shops, trying to get us some emergency cutlery after our order apparently fell off the back of a truck.
I can plan events like this in my sleep, but it’s been fun to work with the team. Cheryl and Nancy have great connections in the area, and they’re good at networking. We’ve got several reps from other local nature conservancy groups coming, including our new friends at the FWC, the North Florida Land Trust, and the Duval Audubon Society.
Every Ray on the roster RSVP’d yes, and practically all of them are bringing a plus one. We have a whole range of Jacksonville personalities coming too—city council reps, prominent business owners, even a few other sports celebrities. At last count, I think we had six Jacksonville Jaguars coming with their wives, even some of the Jumbo Shrimp players. It will be a night by Jacksonville, for Jacksonville, with all the proceeds going to support our local dunes, nesting ground for the sea turtles.
“What did we decide about the balloons?” says Cheryl, still focused on her list.
“We nixed balloons. Environmental scourge, remember?”
“Oh, right,” she says with a laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Oh—and that box arrived for you while you stepped out for coffee,” she adds, pointing to a small box on the corner of her desk.
Her phone rings and she answers it, her voice chipper as she deals with some catering question. In moments, she’s pushing her way out of the office, arguing the price of bacon-wrapped dates. She likes to pace when she talks on the phone, and this office is too cramped. At the end of the hall is a terrace meant for smokers. Now it’s Cheryl’s mobile office. She storms away, leaving the door open.
As soon as she’s gone, I pick up the box perched on the edge of her desk. There’s no return address label. Again. I bring the box over to my desk. Picking up my letter opener, I slice under the flaps, breaking the tape. Heart in my throat, I drop the little knife with a clatter and peel back the top flaps of the box, peering inside.
“Oh god.”