“Oh my. Oh fuck. Yeah, like that.”
With one hand in his hair and one hand clinging to the duvet, my back arches while my feet dig into the muscular planes of his back, pressing myself further into his face. I’d be embarrassed if my actions weren’t met with satisfied moans. My stomach tightens, his fingers and mouth keep the same pace. “I’m going to . . . oh my God.”
He keeps going as I squeeze around his fingers, crying out his name, and when the orgasm finally subsides, I’m pretty sure I’m goo.
Russ collapses next to me on the bed and my brain knows I want to be near to him, but my body doesn’t even know what planet we’re on. Shuffling closer, he kisses me softly, the taste of me on his mouth. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Feeling like I should have put more effort into the lap dance. Didn’t know you were going to put on the performance of your life, jeez.” My brain and body finally start communicating again, allowing me to climb on top of him, straddling his thighs. “Do you have condoms?”
The realization that settles over his face is like something out of a horror film. It’s funny really, the moment he realizes he fucked up. “Sorry, I’ve just moved and haven’t had chance to get some and I wasn’t expecting to . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” He looks down at the erection pressing against his boxers and blows out a sigh. “I’ll check Henry’s room.”
“As much as I’d love to see you try and hide that from a house full of people, I have some in my purse.”
By the time I’ve retrieved one and thrown it on the bed beside us, the look of panic has disappeared. He sits up, leaning back against one hand, cupping my face with the other. I’m waiting for him to say something, again. Nervousness floods my system as he strokes his thumb across my bottom lip. “So perfect.”
I want to fill the silence with every thought in my head for reasons I don’t understand. I think his awkwardness has rubbed off on me a little.
Pushing him back down, I tear the wrapper with my teeth, lifting myself up to let him move his boxers down until his erection springs free. It’s less of a gasp and more of a surprised hiccup when I realize what it is we’re dealing with here. He takes the condom from my hand, rolling it on while I evaluate.
“There’s no way that’s going to fit. I mean I love a challenge, but I can only be challenged so much, y’know?” He pulls me down to him, our mouths aligning, my stomach moving with his as he chuckles at my crisis.
He still tastes like me when his tongue moves against mine; he groans into my mouth when I roll my hips against him. His eyes close, voice strains. “We’ll make it fit.”
Oh, Lord.
Carefully and, while kind of wishing I took another shot for courage, I push myself up from his chest and sink down onto him slowly. “Holy fuck.” Russ’s hands grip my hips tightly. “Is this okay?” he whispers.
I nod, placing my hands over his, as I lift myself up and sink down a little more, then again, until I’m finally taking most of him. My nails dig into his chest, his fingers sink into my skin and the sound of our bodies slapping together echoes around the room.
Why did I think I had the stamina to go on top?
“You’re taking it so well, sweetheart.” I work a little harder, clearly motivated by words and moans. “That’s it, good girl.”
Who knew Mr. Helpful and I would be so compatible. I like it when he praises me and he really likes it when I swirl my hips on the end of his dick. Dream team.
One of his hands travels between my legs, rubbing exactly where I need him to and my body takes on a life of its own, grinding and chasing the building feeling.
“Russ . . . Yes, yes.” He keeps praising and rubbing and letting me take what I need until my entire body tightens and I collapse on top of him, crying out. Rolling me onto my back, he takes his weight on his arms while I pant beneath him.
He brushes my hair out of my face, slowly moving in and out of me again. His head falls to my neck, kissing my skin lightly as I wrap my arms and still shaky legs around him. “You feel so good, Aurora,” he whispers. “I want to feel you come around me again.”
Where the fuck did this man come from?
The sweet way he talks to me, kisses me, even the way he looks at me, is totally contradicted by the confident way he freaking pounds me into the bed. I’m exhausted, satiated—and yet I don’t want it to end. My hands slips to where we’re joined, frantically working to finish when he does. His thrusts fall out of rhythm, breathing gets heavier; I’m nearly there.
A few more and I’m falling off the edge again, dragging him with me. We’re loud and sweaty and so freaking satisfied.
Holy shit.
Who cares about basketball when hockey players exist?
Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
Rolling off me onto his back, we both lie staring at the ceiling trying to catch our breath.
“Do you need anything?” he asks softly.
My arms cross over my face, covering my eyes as I shake my head, attempting to work out how to ask for that like twelve more times. “No. I’m good.”
I feel the bed shift as he stands, various noises of him shuffling around the room filling the silence, before I eventually hear the bathroom door close. My body feels like it’s made of Jell-O and it’s a mental battle to convince myself to find my underwear.
Reaching toward the bedside table for my cellphone, I bring up my chat with Emilia.
EMILIA BENNETT
Live location shared
You coming home or staying over?
Home
He’s in the bathroom. I’ll leave soon
Do you want pizza?
YES
He’s been so long
Is he waiting for you to leave?
Maybe
Okay I can hear him talking to someone
He’s gotta be waiting for me to go, right?
I’m getting dressed now. Be home soon
Weird
Pizza is ordered
I’m not taking it personally that Russ went into the bathroom to wait me out. The prolonged trip to the bathroom so the other person gets the hint to leave is something I’ve done many times. I once had to spend so long in my bathroom before the guy understood, that I rearranged my entire skincare collection into alphabetical order.
I don’t need to be forced out the door, I’m more than happy to sleep in my own bed tonight. Normally I wouldn’t wait so long, but I just assumed he wasn’t a hide-in-the-bathroom-post-hook-up kind of person.
My legs tremble as I stand from the bed, a sign I put in a lot of effort and, more importantly, that I need to start working on my legs or something because I feel like a newborn deer learning to walk. Switching on the lamp on the table beside the bed, I’m immediately drawn to the small stack of books now visible in the light. Engineering Thermodynamics, Addicted to the Game: A Story of Recovery, Roll of the Dice . . . I reach for the book on the top of the stack, picking it up to inspect it. He’s reading The Beautiful and the Damned. What the hell?
The English major in me cringes at the cracked spine and folded page corners, but the soft girl in me is squealing at the idea of him lying in bed at night reading. The super-hot, kind of awkward, great at sex, full set of bedding using, D1 hockey player reading in bed after getting laid. It kind of makes me wish I wasn’t about to go, but the idea of his face dropping when he eventually leaves the bathroom and sees I’m still here is not one I can stomach.
I mean, worst case scenario, he comes out of the bathroom when I’m half-dressed and we have a really great conversation about how my deep-rooted abandonment issues mean I’ll never expect more than the bare minimum from a man and how my father’s blatant disinterest in my existence has given me a stifling fear of rejection which has shaped every romantic interaction I have, so I’m not judging him for wanting me to leave.