Moonshot(33)

It felt like everything was moving too fast, yet time was also standing still. It’d been three weeks and six cities since that night we broke apart and then fell back together. Only 24 days, yet … when every evening was spent with him … it felt like a year. There were just over sixty games left in the season. Then, I would have a decision-filled offseason. The biggest question that weighed me down? Whether to tell my father about Chase.

“We don’t have to do this.” He gasped into my mouth as his hand yanked at my zipper.

“Shut up,” I pulled at his shirt, my nails skidding across his back in my haste to get it off, to expose that torso, the perfect lines surrounding each muscle, his abs a ripple of beauty.

“Are you sure?” he asked as his fingers dug under the waist of my jeans, pulling them over my hips, his mouth on mine as soon as the question left it.

“Third base,” I shot out, in between frantic kisses. “Stop arguing with me and do it.”

He gripped my waist and pushed, then I was on his bed, my jeans skinned off, flip-flops tossed somewhere, and he was pushing me back, crawling on top of me, his weight gently on mine, the press of him hard and hot, in between my legs.

It was strange how so many points of our body could touch, from foot to shoulder, the length of him atop me, his weight supported by his hands, his mouth on my neck, marking his territory, and yet the only thing I felt, right then, was his cock. It was hard, in his boxer briefs, between my legs, his cotton underwear against mine, my legs wrapping around his hips, and when he gently ground against me, I almost lost my mind. Suddenly, I didn’t want his mouth on me; I didn’t want to go down on him. I only wanted him to pull it out and push it inside of me. I wanted him to own that part of my body, to replace any memory I ever had of Tobey, to thrust inside and teach me how it was done. This time would not be a rushed affair, with no phone calls, total silence afterward, both of us running back to our normal lives. This time, with Chase, would be done right, sex filled with love and passion and the promise of a million more times. I begged him for it, and he silenced me with his kiss.

“Don’t ask me for that, Ty. Please.” His voice rasped on the beg, his hips shifting, dragging his arousal over me, each pump of his hips sending me to a new level of delirium. He pushed up on his hands, looking down between our bodies, my panties sticking to me, his bulge extended, and he slid one last painful time across me, my back arching off the bed with the need of it all. “You have no idea how badly I want that,” he groaned. “But right now, I want something even more.” He sat up, pulling at my legs, unwrapping them from his waist, and pushed at my knees, spreading them apart, his body sliding down the bed before I realized what was happening.

“Wait!” I called out, reaching for him, propping up on my elbows and trying to stop him, my hand on his shoulder, pushing him off. “I changed my mind. We can just skip this base.”

He pulled at my thighs, dragging me to the edge of the bed, his head lifting to look at me. “Skip it?” I felt the stretch of my panties and then they were gone, pulled down and off my legs, the last barrier between his mouth and me, and I’d never felt so exposed in my life. Thank God the lamps were off in the room, the only light coming from the bathroom. Thank God he couldn’t see my blush in the dark.

“Skip it,” I whispered, suddenly too shy to take this step, to have his mouth on my most private place, a flood of doubts and insecurities taking over.

He didn’t skip it. He ignored me, leaning forward, and then his mouth was on me, and it was different than a kiss, different than his touch, different than anything I had experimented with on my own. I pushed against his head, resisting, scared and insecure … then he moved his tongue, a soft flick of it across my clit, and I groaned, my hand twisting in the short length of his hair, the sound from my mouth one that I had never made. My toes dug into the bed, my knees pointed at the ceiling, and I lost everything. Every conscious thought, every worry, every understanding of what was pleasure and what was right. I watched his eyes close, felt the slow, beautiful movement of his tongue, and finally understood what the giant fuss about sex was all about.

His hands gripped my legs, his mouth gently made love to my clit, and my heart, after two months of struggle and a few minutes of ecstasy, finally stopped its fight.

There was no stopping this. There was no more resisting. Damn any of the consequences, damn any future heartbreak. I clenched my legs, I gripped at the bed, and I cried out his name in the moment that my soul broke open.

I was his.





54



“I love you.” He said the words so softly I almost missed them, my groggy mind too sluggish to comprehend. I was tucked under his arm, lying next to him in bed, my hand playing over his stomach, my lazy mind trying to work up the courage to drag my fingers lower, down the lines of his abs and toward the edge of his underwear.

My mind repeated the words, trying to sort them from background noise, trying to understand if I really heard them or just imagined it. “What?” I finally said, rolling toward him and propping myself up on his stomach.

“I love you.” There were pillows underneath his head, angled toward me, his eyes clear, his face strong and confident. He should be confident. I’d all but worshipped him in the last hour, my voice running wild, comparing him to God All-Mighty as I had bucked underneath his mouth, two orgasms stolen from my body before he finally stopped.