All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(47)

Becca cries out, overcome by the sensations, by the pleasure snapping through her.

It takes no time at all before she’s contracting around me, squeezing me, and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from following her over the edge. She clings to me, her hands on my shoulders, her fingernails biting in my skin.

“Fuck,” she mutters, biting her bottom lip.

After orgasm number four, I lose track and ditch the toy beside the bed. Becca is practically trembling all over, and I have to gather her close for a moment, tugging her up from the bed and holding her against my chest.

“You’re doing incredible,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She meets my eyes, her chest heaving.

“Can you handle more?” I ask.

She nods, still watching me.

I lower her back to the bed. “Arms up.”

She places her arms over her head, and I gather her wrists in one hand, holding them securely while I resume moving inside her.

A rush of responsibility surges through me, and it’s better than any hit of adrenaline I’ve ever felt on the ice. It’s me she chose to share this with. Me.

When she begs me, “More,” what little self-restraint I had left snaps. There’s no holding myself back anymore.

My hips pump in long, greedy thrusts, and I feel every inch of her. It’s not just that the sex is good; I can see that now. There’s chemistry. And familiarity. And shared memories and trust, so much trust that my heart gives a painful kick in my chest.

Needing to regain some of the control I’ve clearly lost, I pull back and release her wrists.

“Turn over, angel,” I say, helping Becca up and onto her knees.

She looks unsure at first, but then she obeys, positioning herself on her hands and knees facing the headboard.

Palming her round ass, I slide home, groaning as she accepts me.

When my palm connects with her ass, it’s not a conscious decision, it’s instinct, and for a second, I’m stunned. I just hit Becca. But when she moans, I immediately relax, letting my instincts take over.

I grip her ass in my hands, pulling her back onto me, spanking her a few more times while whispering to her how good she feels. And when Becca starts to come again, I finally let go, joining her as blood pounds through my veins and pleasure overtakes me.

Once our breathing has slowed and the condom has been dealt with, I place a tender kiss to her lips.

“You were incredible,” I murmur.

She doesn’t reply with words; she just touches my cheek as if to say I see you.

I should feel self-conscious about the way I opened up to her about my past, but the thing is, I don’t. Becca would never judge me, and somehow it feels good to know I shared that story with her—a story I’ve never told anyone before. Not even my parents or the other guys. Becca’s concern surprised me at first—maybe because I’ve always told myself I was fine with what happened—but now that I’m older, I can see that she has a point. But right now, it’s not something I want to dwell on.

Back in the bed, I tug the sheet down this time so we can climb beneath it.

With one arm tucked beneath Becca’s head, we lie together in her bed, both sleepy and sated. She curls toward me, happy to use my bicep as a pillow.

As we drift off to sleep, my last thought is that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever hurt her. And I’m scared that one day I will.

? ? ?

Are you free today?

I click SEND on the text and stuff the last bite of eggs in my mouth. We have a rare day off today, no workout, no practice, no team skate. While my roommate, Justin, is spending it in bed with my sister—a thought I don’t care to dwell on—I plan to spend it getting sweaty with Becca. I haven’t seen her in three days, not since we spent that wild night in her bed.

My phone chirps, and I look down at her response.

I sure am. What did you have in mind?

I text her an address across town, along with the message:

Meet there in an hour?

When she replies with a thumbs-up emoji, I hop up from my spot on the couch, needing to grab a quick shower before I leave. I place my plate into the dishwasher and head into my bathroom. While I wait for the water to heat, it occurs to me that I should probably warn Becca about today’s activities, or at least give her a heads-up on the dress code.

I send one more quick text, then strip and step under the hot spray of water.

? ? ?

Fifty minutes later, I arrive at the martial arts gym before Becca does, which is perfect. At the check-in desk, I pay both of our entrance fees into the self-defense lesson, and then wait for her by the glass front doors.

I spot her on the sidewalk approaching, her long hair tied up in a ponytail that bounces as she walks. She’s wearing a pair of skintight black leggings, white Converse sneakers, and a white T-shirt that’s been knotted at the waist. Her curves fill out every square inch of that stretchy fabric, and my heart thuds faster as I watch her move.

Pulling the front door open for her, I stand beside it, and her face lights up when she sees me.

“What is this place?” she asks, curiosity brimming in her blue eyes.

“We’re going to take a self-defense lesson today,” I say, leaning down to touch my lips to hers in the briefest of kisses.

While I hadn’t exactly planned on kissing her in such a public place, it’s hard not to touch her after all we’ve shared. I think that’s when it hits me how difficult it’s going to be, going back to being just friends. Friends don’t kiss, or fuck, or do any of the amazing things Becca and I have been doing.