“Politeness isn’t your forte,” she snipes, though she smiles at the excitement she can see on my face.
“Sorry, baby, I’m just— Seems like neither of us are rule followers.”
“You don’t say.”
I mirror her amused grin. “Why did you get me that?”
Setting the gift aside – albeit with reluctance because I’msoready to open that shit up and assemble it – I pull her on my lap, the sheets pooling on the floor. Her fingers sift through my hair, the way I absolutely adore, her eyes bouncing between mine.
“Because you deserve it. You deserve everything. And because, even though I admire your kindness, I don’t like seeing you put everyone else’s needs above yours at the expense of your own happiness. You’re allowed to spoil yourself.”
A part of me that I keep buried is terrified of what’s going to happen to me and Alara once I leave. Even if I’m sure to come back here at some point, I’ll eventually need to go to Utah. Then, I’ll travel with the team, and I don’t know when I’ll see her next.This part of me knows the best thing to do is not pursue anything romantic anymore and put an end to this. But the other part is entirely, irremediably hers. I am not strong enough to push Alara away.
I have no clue what to do, so I focus onnow.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper, because, at that moment, it’s all my lizard brain can muster. Then, I kiss her. Deeply. Fervently. Pouring everything from my soul into hers.
She presses her bare breasts against my chest, aligning our drumming hearts so they can make one symphony. We kiss slowly, unhurriedly, as if we have all the time in the world and nothing else matters or exists.
Flipping us over, I lay her down on her back without so much as breaking our kiss, rolling my erection against her slick core. She sighs in my mouth, and, together, we’re a tangle of breathy moans and wandering hands.
I enter her without foreplay, thrusting deeply, slowly, passionately. She whispers my name like it’s a reverence, and I can’t help but rise on my forearms, either side of her head, to look into her eyes.
Something intense gleams around her pupils. Something that tells me she reciprocates the feelings I have for her. It makes my heart pound frantically, like it wants to fight its way out of my body to wrap around hers – to tether them together in one way or another.
There was always a thin line between us, and I’m not exactly sure when it blurred and blended with reality, but all I know is that it’s impossible to go back in time.
Pulling one of her thighs up to rest around my hip, I pump deeper, harder, hitting the spot that makes her cry out in pure bliss and arch into me. Her nails leave marks on my shoulder blades, and I welcome the pain like it’s pleasure.
Soon enough, she comes with the sexiest, prettiest cry, andshe shakes with such intensity that it makes a jolt of heat pulsate down my spine. I come with her, so hard that tiny white stars blind my vision.
And when I collapse on her, still buried deep, I revel in the way our wild pulses match like they’re two metronomes thrumming in perfect synchronicity.
I want this moment to stretch into eternity, but reality blows in my face. My phone rings. Frustrated, I groan in the crook of her neck, and she chuckles.
I fucking love her laugh. Even more so if I’m the one who manages to draw it out of her.
Reaching blindly to the nightstand, I pull out of her. Surprise skitters down my spine as I stare down at my cell. “It’s Coach,” I announce, my voice gravelly.
Her lips brush my jaw, and I shiver. “I’ll leave you to it. Gotta clean up.” Alara pulls my t-shirt over her head, then accepts my kiss when I give it to her. I can’t help but smile, not caring about my phone ringing and ringing and ringing.
Eventually, though, as I watch her walk down the stairs, I begin to strip the bed – it’s probably best with the amount of fucking we did last night and this morning. I finally accept the call.
“Hey, Coach.”
I put him on speaker and set the phone on the nightstand. “Hey, man. Merry Christmas! Well, a bit late, but I didn’t want to bother you while you were with your family.”
I chuckle, balling a pillowcase and tossing it in the laundry basket in the corner of the room.I could always change careers and switch to basketball if snowboarding isn’t an option anymore.Over my dead fucking body.“No worries. Merry Christmas. You’re doing good?”
“And you?” I noticed it’s a thing he does often – avoids any attention set on him.
I don’t answer right away, and I don’t know why, because I’m doing fucking amazingly. Maybe I’m scared to admit it, because if I do he might give me the green light to go back to Utah, and, quite frankly, I don’t know if I want to go just yet. But what if I refuse to do it? I’ll go back to square one. He’ll think I’m still a stubborn motherfucker who’s nothing but a reckless failure, which means I won’t be able to ride, and it’s just an endless circle.
What if he thinks I’m not serious about riding?
What if he thinks I want to retire? Because that’s absolutely not happening until I’m at least sixty years old.
And what if he doesn’t give me a choice other than to return to the city that I can’t call home, no matter how hard I’ve tried?
