Block Shot (Hoops #2)(124)

”Open it for me,” he says, his voice desperate and commanding.

I know what he wants and cup my butt in both hands, stretching, pulling the cheeks apart to make his way easier.

“Shit,” I gasp. It’s intense. The penetration so deep, I shatter inside with every thrust.

Taking control, he pauses only long enough to drop my legs from his chest and let them fall open, and pushes my knees up to my chest. He watches himself going in and out, biting his lip, gripping the inside of my thigh just below the knee. I know what’s next, and I don’t think I can take it.

His thumb revisits my pussy, gently at first, almost an apology for neglecting it, then his jaw hardens and he presses his palm flat over the open lips, passing his hand across my clit over and over. I involuntarily close my legs against the devastating pleasure.

“Stop. Open,” he orders abruptly, pressing my legs back wide and my knees back up. He strokes my clit and sinks his thumb into my pussy, all the while pounding into my ass. The orgasm rises from muscles coiled tight at the base of my spine and explodes over my back, a meteor shower raining down my legs, winnowing through my feet and toes. This feeling possesses me until I scream and thrash my head and grip the sheets.

“Dios. Dios,” I slur, spent, even as he maintains the vigorous pace. Sweat drips down the chiseled workmanship of his chest and abs. His damp hair curls.

How long has he been fucking me? I hope it never ends.

“God, I’m close,” he grunts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He pulls out and splashes a hot stream onto my ass and along the backs of my thighs, on my belly. His head flings back, proud and leonine, and then he looks at me, ownership in the gaze that takes in the creamy rivulets decorating my body.

And then he rubs it in.

I close my eyes, blocking all extraneous stimulus and every sense but touch. The world narrows to the ridges of his finger pads massaging his essence into my skin. He rubs it into the swollen lips between my legs and roughly over my nipples, melding us in the most primitive way. When the pleasure is too much to contain, I come again. Differently. Soundlessly. Noiselessly. My whole being sighs. My body with the release of such passion, it steals my voice. My heart, which for one devastatingly gorgeous moment, stops, pauses in my chest in reverence. And my soul stills, quieted by the presence, the possession, of its mate.





“We’re wrinkling.”

I lift a bare, wet arm from the cooling bath water to show Jared my puckered fingertips. He’s behind me in my claw-foot tub, his arms sheltering my shoulders and my head tucked into the curve of his neck.

“I see.” He catches my fingers, briefly kisses the tips. He links his hands with mine on the lip of the tub. “What do you think about a hike today?”

“Oooh.” I arch my neck to look at him over my shoulder. “That could be fun.”

“Maybe Temescal Canyon?”

“I haven’t done that one. I love the sound of that.”

It feels strange sometimes that we . . . date. That we do normal things together like go to movies or the theater, eat dinner or walk on the beach. I grew up with the ocean close by, and I missed it when I lived in New York. Our schedules are so hectic, but when we snatch time to be together, it’s to do simple things like that. Just breathing in ocean air and appreciating a majestic sunset and learning new things about each other all the while.

We’ve only been together a few weeks, and it’s quiet. Not many know, only our closest family and friends. Zo and I released a joint statement explaining that our relationship had been platonic for months, but we had decided not to discuss it while we were navigating his illness. That put his “te amo” from stage in a different light, that of a man appreciating his best friend for standing by him through hell. Which is what it was, what we are, even though it took Zo some time to accept it.

“Uh . . . what time were you thinking?” I ask, touching the powerful legs on either side of me.

His skin slides against mine behind me with a shrug.

“Two?” He pulls the wet hair from my neck and kisses the curve. “You have something to do?”

I’m quiet for a few seconds. I’m still involved with Zo’s care now that we’re back in LA. With chemo behind him, the medical team is monitoring his body’s response. Preparing for the next stage, stem cell replacement, is a complex process that includes a battery of tests ensuring his organs are healthy enough for the procedure. Then follows a lengthy recovery that will largely isolate Zo, nearly quarantining him because of how the process will strip his immune system down to nothing. He’ll have very few visitors.

But he’ll have me.

“Yeah, I do have a few things to take care of.” I clear my throat before going on. “I need to check on Zo.”

It’s quiet behind me, the only sound the water lapping against the tub with each slight subtle shift of our bodies.

“Does it bother you?” I finally ask softly. “That I’m still so involved with him? With his care?”

“Yes.”

I try to be a no-judgment zone for Jared. We love each other deeply but are made so differently. We’re both fiercely protective of the ones we love, but Jared has a tight filter for who gets in, for who gets loved. I’m glad I made the cut.

“Thank you for being honest with me.” I turn in the tub so I’m facing him. “I can’t abandon him.”