The Fastest Way to Fall(61)

“You’re pretty great, too, Britt.”





38





THE SUN SHINING through the window pulled me from a pleasant dream I couldn’t grasp the ends of, except for the memory of Britta’s smooth skin and how good she smelled. A light breeze moved through the room as the distant sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds brought the morning into a slow focus. My eyes closed again as I took in the warmth surrounding me, before my eyelids flew open because her sweet smell and warm skin hadn’t been part of the dream. Britta’s soft breasts and stomach pressed against me, one leg hitched on mine and her arm draped across my midsection. Her head rested on my chest, hair coming loose from the scarf she’d used to wrap it, and I had an immediate sense of rightness with my arm settled around her.

I stroked my fingers over the soft skin of her back. It was a half-hearted attempt to wake her; I was sure she’d shift away at any moment, pulling her soft curves and body heat away from me.

Britta released a soft moan in her sleep, her breath warming my chest through my shirt as she shifted, not away but against me, her hand sliding lower on my stomach, fingertip just under the waistband of my shorts. The sensation was like being struck by a bolt of lightning and craving another.

My dick, hard as a rock, ached for her fingers, her body to move just a little more. I stared at the ceiling, mind racing with thoughts and decisions. She’s still a client and my friend; this is wrong.

Britta stirred again, her finger curling under the hem of my T-shirt.

I should move away from her before I can’t.

“Britta,” I whispered, a hint of desperation in my voice as I nudged her hand away from my shorts. I meant to rouse her enough to slip out of bed, maybe to take a walk down the hall toward a hopefully cold shower. Instead, I dragged my fingertips over the nape of her neck, not wanting to startle her. I stroked my thumb back and forth, repeating her name in a whisper. I wished I could reach her shoulder from this angle so I could kiss her there and wake her up, use that as a proxy for verbally admitting everything I felt.

We’d joked about our fake sex life, but I’d lain awake imagining being with her. My thoughts weren’t all pure, but I’d wondered if it might be okay to hope for something real with her, to imagine being her partner for Spades, and the guy who got to hold her hand for no reason, not just when Calvin was nearby.

She stirred again, her breath coming faster as she realized her surroundings. She looked at me, then down at how our bodies were aligned. Her cheeks reddened, and she was obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” Our eyes met, and her plump lips parted. I’d stared at those lips so many times, imagining how she’d taste, and how she’d sound murmuring my name. My free hand dropped to hers, the weight pressing her palm to the exposed skin of my stomach. I couldn’t stand the idea of missing her touch again, and I searched her wide brown eyes. “Don’t apologize.”

I worked my fingers under the scarf and into her hair, feeling how soft and thick her curls were, and leaned my face closer to hers, so our breaths mingled. I kept my movements slow, wanting her to have time to push me away, for one of us to remember this was a bad idea. We didn’t, and our lips hovered close. “Britta,” I said, aware of every point where our bodies connected and the way her irises darkened. “Can I kiss you?”

She tipped her chin, and when our mouths met, I took her lower lip between mine and sucked, slowly, patiently, willing myself to savor this. It wasn’t a tentative kiss, though. It was what I’d been craving for months, and I breathed her in.

She arched against me, whimpering my name, and I was lost, gone at the idea she’d been craving this, too.

“Britta,” I said into her skin, kissing her neck and loving the way her nails grazed my scalp. Her body was eager, and she pressed her hips to me, searching.

“We shouldn’t, but—” She panted, grabbing my hand and pushing it up to cup her perfect full breast over the thin fabric of her tank.

My God. I massaged, taking as much in my palm as I could before gliding my thumb over the peaked tip of her nipple. She shuddered under me, and I did it again, wanting to bury my face under her shirt, seeing if she shuddered like that when I glided my tongue over the sensitive spots.

“You’re my coach.” She let out the words between kisses. “And I’m . . . I’m . . .”

“Do you want me to stop?” I pulled my lips from hers, stilling my hands and looking down at her beautiful, open mouth, her wide eyes. I didn’t give a damn about being her coach, not after kissing her, and not after having her like this, but the last thing I wanted was her feeling uncomfortable.

She shook her head, pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and searched my face, eyes bouncing between mine for interminable seconds. “Don’t stop.” Britta shifted her thigh to my hip, opening herself to me, and I dragged my palm from the luscious weight of her breast down to knead her ass as she pleaded, “Don’t stop.”

I rolled her to her back and settled between her legs, pressing myself against her heat. She let out a small, strangled cry against my shoulder when I ground my length against her. I couldn’t decide where to touch, where to taste her—I wanted to be everywhere, and she was still letting out muted whimpers and moans that sent me into overdrive. I wanted to tell her I was crazy about her, that she was always on my mind, that the thought of her with someone else drove me nuts. Britta’s kiss was like her smile—it made me feel invincible, and I dipped my head for another.