“Relax. I don’t need sugar when I have all the sweetness a man could want right here.”
And rather than ruin the moment talking about my illness, I lose myself in her slippery, sugary folds and nibble on her bundle of nerves. And it’s music to my ears when Ihear her moaning my name. Her flesh shimmers with sweat and desire. And when she tugs my hair, burying my face between her legs, I feel like I’m in a candyland with all the sweetness I’ll ever need.
She cheers, “Yes, yes,” until her whole body trembles. Her hands clench my skull, keeping me right where she needs me to be.
I don’t give in until she detonates, covering my mouth and chin in her juices. Pulling back enough to see her, she’s pink-cheeked and starry-eyed and so beautiful it hurts. “Still with me?”
“Matt?” she asks, my name nearly two syllables.
“Yeah.” I scoot back up the bed.
“I feel... different.” Her voice sounds wrecked in the best possible way.
“How?” My thumb draws lazy circles on her hipbone, the same place she reacted to first.
“Like I finally tuned in to the right radio station,” she says, and I smile because she just stole my thought.
SEVENTEEN
NOELLE
Morning finds me in the same hotel bed, same sheets, but in an entirely different universe.
I lie very still and listen: the air conditioning vent whirs, footsteps thud above us, ice clatters in a hallway bucket. Matt’s inked arm is solid over my waist, his breath steady at the back of my neck, teaching my jittery body a calmer song. Last night’s surprising events play behind my closed lids. The whole night in soft-focus frames—his patience, his voice, the way he asked and waited, the way I answered and didn’t feel wrong for once.
A mixture of desire and disbelief washes through me. I can’t believe that happened. I can’t believe it could feel like that without the panic of performing. I can’t believe I got to be…with him.
The phone alarm nudges us out of the dream. Matt groans into the pillow like the world has personally offended him.
“Is it already time to wake up?” I ask.
He rumbles, “Not for you.”
“I have rookie camp at nine,” I say, though my voice doesn’t sound convincing. “ESPN expects me to look presentable and be prepared.”
“I can’t help with being prepared. Well, I could, but this is your career.” He peels his arm away and props himself on an elbow, studying me like he’s checking for fractures. “But you may need a shower. You smell?—”
“Rude.” I smile anyway. He kisses me once, slow and unhurried, then another time for luck. The second one makes me forget my name for a second.
“I was going to say you smell like a dream.”
There’s a softness to Matt, a contradiction to the inked coach shouting and correcting players. I always knew it was there, but my main interaction with him has always been with my family. And with my brothers, if you’re not cocky, they think something is wrong with you. They like being surrounded by people with confidence. And Matt has those qualities, but today I’m realizing there is more to him than a former football player and now a coach. He’s more than Greyson’s best friend. More than one of J.D.’s assistant coaches. He’s quick-witted and caring.
Ripping off the tangled sheets, Matt’s naked body twists, and that little round monitor catches my eye. He walks into the bathroom. I sit up, leaning where I can admire him in the mirror’s reflection. He takes a needle and jabs it into his side, then places his palms on the counter and closes his eyes. His shoulders fall as he releases a quick breath.
Something is wrong. He’s regretting what we did. It’s not like we had sex. But in all honesty, this oral sex was a million times better than the full sex I had with Brooks. It was everything I had imagined but didn’t think existed. Trustingsomeone else to let me find out what I enjoy. And I had orgasms, not pretending I was satisfied.
The shower turns on, and I gather our clothes and make separate piles on the other bed. He’s out in five minutes. “All yours.”
Does he mean his body is all mine? Or the shower?
I look in the mirror and somehow seem surprisingly rested, even though it was less than four hours of sleep. It’s the post-non-sex glow. The veil of satisfaction. Being touched, almost worshipped, feels fantastic. The only thing bothering me is Matt poking himself with needles.
“I’m ready.”
Matt’s gaze travels the length of me. “I don’t like it.”
Dang, he can be grumpy. “Why?” I look down at my outfit.
