Eventually, I said what I needed to say. "Tell me you love me…" I kissed down her arm, bringing her hand to mine, intertwining our fingers together.
"I love you." Her voice was small and unsteady, as if saying it would mean nothing. She wanted to show me. "Show me, Evan. Make it real. Don't say it without making me feel it."
I couldn't meet her eyes, I wanted to, but couldn't out of fear of taking her right then. It was out of my control, so I tried to concentrate on her skin, touching everywhere I could, in hopes that eventually we would be together in the ways we wanted to.
How do I make this real?
When she touched my chest, I shook.
"Please, don't stop, Mase…"
Fuck, she called me Mase again.
I slid her hand away from my chest to press my body flush with hers. She rubbed her palms across my lower back, holding me against her.
My eyes were closed now, my eyebrows scrunched together, my lips swollen and red, matching hers.
I whispered words to her, goose bumps spreading over any place my lips touched. She touched my arm and shoulders, focusing on the way my muscles moved beneath her hands.
I gripped the sheets beside her head, groaning, carefully nibbling on sensitive skin. "I'm so fucked. You have me so fucked up." My nose swept from her throat to her jaw bone, hoping she understood what that meant this time.
Her skin felt abnormally warm. It burned to touch and was tempting to kiss. My lips found the spot where her pulse was the strongest. "Your heart is beating so fast," I whispered quietly.
I released the sheets and touched her face, letting her see I was just like her, trembling skin and chattering bones.
When I settled between her legs, we both shifted and began breathing heavier.
"You're my girl," I said, trickling my fingers down her ribs. "You know that, right?"
Her legs were open now, wrapped around me.
"Mase," she whispered, searching my eyes.
"Be still." My self-control was gone.
"Please," she begged again. "I want you."
I put a finger to her lips and whispered, "Not yet, not now. We have time. Let's just take it slow. They'll be time for that later." The one time we had gotten close, Ami was too scared. Ever since then, she kept saying she was ready, but I just couldn't do it.
Although confused, she didn't argue. It'd be so fucking easy to get carried away. Her body, her words, her starry blues told me she was ready, but I knew she wasn't. And despite how badly I wanted her, I wanted to preserve this a little longer. I played along. Every once in a while I teased, I whispered something obscene into her ear just to see how far I could push. That was just me; I teased and she let me.
I hitched her leg over my waist, giving her open mouthed kisses, and I wanted to push myself against her but didn't. I ached for her so fucking badly, but I didn't trust myself to move. Instead, I kissed her.
"Please." She tried again, desperately reaching to unbutton my jeans.
I groaned against her lips, stopping her hand. "Don't ask me that right now." My entire body shivered, fighting what was right from wrong. If she asked me one more time, I would do it. I would fuck her right here, give in and feel the connection we were starved for.
Her lips were warm, full of love, her center pushed into mine, hot and deep. I cried out against her when she wiggled, arching into me. With only our jeans separating us, I pushed against her again. My body reacted to the heat, and I felt my fucking knees go weak.
Her hands gripped my sides, urging me forward each time I moved. Tipping her head back with my fingers, I kissed her, tasting her love heavy on my tongue.
There would never be anything but this, right here.
Eventually our movements stopped; we couldn't go further and we knew it.
I smiled with closed eyes, kissing her one last time, twice, three times, before pulling away. "I love you," I whispered again, tenderly worshiping this girl, exhaling against her skin.
I dropped the gloves. I finally told a girl I loved her, and fuck if I wasn't ready to dance.
Delayed penalty – When a penalty is called, the referee will raise his or her arm to indicate that one is being called, but, if the team who committed the infraction is not in control of the puck, no whistle will be blown until a player from the offending team controls the puck.
Conference Finals (Game 1) San Jose Sharks
Sunday, May 16, 2010
My mind was wandering as it usually did, taping my stick—trying not to focus on anything in particular and definitely not the situation with Ami and me. So much about our relationship, still technically undefined, was complicated. We had a strong friendship and both understood that it was so much more than that and had been since the very beginning. Ami and I had a bond. And in hockey, a bond was what you needed. As weird as it sounded, I could see myself with Ami forever.